A Nameless World
by XelYel
Summary: After years of slavery, abuses, of a bloody war fought not for themselves, but for their greedy masters, these creatures - no, these monsters - rebelled. It took one month for humanity to be overturned: now the world, once a flourishing place for all species alike, is falling apart. It is in those conditions that a boy ventures forth, running away from home. What for, though?
1. Introduction

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **[To]** _ID#5103213 (You)_

 **[From]** _Fed_Education_at_gfphr_local_

 **[Subject]** Your Document Request

 **[Date]** 22/09/2105

 **[Email Content]**

 **T** he **G** lobal **F** ederation of the **P** ure **H** uman **R** ace salutes you, comrade!

Our servers have verified that your query has been issued from an authorized account. Thus, it has been accepted: the document you have asked for, recognized as novel, is displayed below.

Please take note that, in conformity to the InfoPact (ratified as of 10/02/2092), any type of digitalized, written, printed, composed, recorded, formulated, painted, chiselled, or scribbled piece of information has been rightfully censored, and may also be subject to limitations of visibility according to the account's rank used for the request. Keep in mind that THIS IS CLASSIFIED MILITARY INFORMATION, and as such YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DISTRIBUTE IT IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM, NEITHER PARTIALLY, NOR IN ITS ENTIRETY.

May the blessing of our Heavenly Saviour enlighten you,

 _The mind is weak, but the flesh is strong:_

 _Work, Wage War, Win!_

 **[End of Content]**

 **[Attached files] Text Document:** Document720355/A

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 **[DOCUMENT 720355/A]**

 **An Introduction for the reader**

\- From the Victorious Scriptures, Genesis I

"(1) _In the beginning there was only Chaos. During those nights of terror, people were lost, pitted against a dark world of tremendously powerful, heartless creatures which would listen to no prayers of mercy; people were left alone, their twisted bodies crying, hiding and fleeing, trying to outrun their fate._ (2) _In vain, as Humanity was the weakest prey of those monsters, not a race of its own right, but an object. A gift from their Evil God, which they thoroughly enjoyed. The whole world was grieving at the sight._

(3) T _hose wicked fiends attacked, slashed, slayed without effort the heroic men who were protecting their defenceless village and their helpless families._ (4) _However, one day, humanity's Heavenly Savior came forth! With his powerful roars that caused blinding explosions, the whole ground trembled as He annihilated the savage, cowardly enemy as they ran away._ (5) _The shining tanks and rifles put order to Chaos, which was no more._

(6) _People were humbly thankful, but He told them that there was no need to be, for He gently took the hand of a small child and proclaimed, "_ (7) _Fear not anymore, people of humanity! God has sent a testament for you all, so pray, and have faith in Me! God said that we will be the soldiers of the human race, He said that we will forge a whole new world!_ [...] (18) _This is our life, this is our mission! For the future of our children we will Work, Wage War, and Win against those creations of Evil!"_

(19) _The voice of God had spoken. People had recognized the divine nature of their Savior and prayed to him, for they were not to fear anymore. No beast would dare to approach His blazing weapons and His majestic forces;_ (20) _the villages would shine in the light of His words forever, and its people would rejoice for eternity."_

Everyone has heard thousands of times the official slogan of the GFPHR (Global Federation of the Pure Human Race, or Federation for short) " _Work, Wage War, Win!"_ For those who may come from a future era, if any there will be, know that we are living in grim times: truly, the Victorious Scriptures speak of a future which has never seemed so far away from days like this one, 19th of June 2102.

Strange creatures with even stranger abilities are what we must fight, day after day, fearing for our personal lives and safety, and what will ultimately lead to the demise of us all. They can effortlessly recreate all kinds of both natural and super-natural phenomena – ones humankind had to study for centuries to grasp, from the simplest of combustions to the complete manipulation of the four Aristotelian elements, even going as far as the distortion of space and time themselves, studied by Einstein no sooner than 1905. Their fighting capabilities are far beyond that of humans: they can rip one's body in a single Slash, control one's mind with Hypnosis or directly bash with their skull, drop someone from the sky from kilometers in air, Incinerate them, freeze them in a raging Blizzard, inject a deadly Toxin in their body in a matter of milliseconds, produce Earthquakes, Eruptions, and all kinds of disasters and generally slay, wipe out, and annihilate everyone and everything in the most diverse and gruesome manners. The destructive power they possess is truly unfathomable.

As such, what is left of the human species, of the glorious empires and the civilized nations? People confined in small strongholds and villages throughout the world, all conquered and then governed under the strict dictatorships of the Federation. Or left in the deadliest of anarchies, under God only knows what abysmal conditions.

Every city – it is quite a stretch to call them as such – is ruled a bit differently, which is a must, given that there is no way for different places to send information to one another if not by paper, through a small platoon of loyal soldiers risking their lives to carry the message. Yet, the belief of all the confederates, the thing that binds all of them together, is always the same. Due to this belief, their days are always the same mixture of work, war, and little else; most obediently follow every order, even to engage in battle other people with thin foil armour and perpetually jammed weapons. I believe and I hope that it is the anarchists the Federation commands that we clash against in these instances. Unfortunately, there are no means of looking into the matter and finding out the righteousness of what they command us to do; even if it comes to killing possible allies or friends, we can never think think for ourselves, because the Federation says that, were we to, we would become traitors and do no good, and like that, humanity would never reach happiness.

What is this belief, you ask? The Federation tells us that in a not-so-far away past, everything was different, that there was a time in which those creatures were the ones obeying humans; we gave them orders, and they complied. We have always been a weak and pathetic species in comparison, but they would answer our needs and ease our lives, and they would always protect us against the dangers of the outside world. This is referenced later in the Victorious Scriptures, in the last book of the Revolution which refers to this golden era – this Pure Age of the Human Race which has been lost nowadays, but which will be brought back by humanity's valiant efforts, _someday_ , as the last age of the entire human history. Then those creatures will not be monsters, but tamed forces that we can use to our advantage and bring with us: pocket-monster, or _poké_ - _mon_. That is indeed the true and only belief of all the confederates or, rather, the hope of everyone, as well as the certainty, the influence and the power that the Federation applies to crush the rebel and to bend the compliant. It is finally the reason for which I will follow the GFPHR to the ends of this godforsaken planet, as much as I've always shrugged off the religious speeches and that ridiculous propaganda of theirs.

Truly, what we see as of today are feral blood-lovers and flesh-eaters with an unconditional desire for carnage. Thus, they must be stopped and enslaved one way or another. One would suspect this couldn't be all there is to these creatures, but the Federation does affirm so, and as such, it stands as an undeniable truth. As to why they were listening to our commands in the past, no one knows, while the higher ranks preach that this is all God's mysterious doing.

What we do know for certain is that a tremendous War between two super-states began several decades ago, and that in this instance, we forced those monsters to fight one another; the Federation believes they must have loved doing so, giving their inclination to kill and the animalistic enjoyment they usually sip from the act. Yet, one day, those creatures fought back. Angrily. "They wanted more," replies the Federation to any suspect of abuse or mistreatment committed by men, affirming that these creatures simply wanted more than the flesh and the blood of each other soaking their furry, thorny or slimy bodies when they formed another faction, far more powerful than the two human forces, and began killing people in tens and hundreds, and that certainly none of that rebellion's fault was caused by our misbehavior.

Regardless of the cause, those enraged, overpowered battle beasts made humanity regress whole centuries in little more than one month, even if they acted chaotically and wildly and not as an organized force. That's when the Federation came, forming from a small right-wing military party of rich people, inside the tiniest of districts of an insignificant city. They had always refused anything to do with those monsters, and they were hiding firepower. A lot of it. First, they stayed out of the War. The second it ended, they were in control of everything. To save everybody, as they proclaim, and equivalently to rule them all.

It should now appear clear enough to the reader that the slogan of the Federation is quite the fitting reminder of what we are today. As a fact:

To _Work_ is a necessity. Often in the middle of the night at freezing temperatures as to avoid the monsters that lurk around during the day, or at least most of them; always wary to pickaxe this or that rock, or to pick those fruits or those other berries, as any or all of them might hide a wild creature, just as every step one makes can wake up one or a dozen of them. People with a sufficient rank in the Army, such as myself, work instead inside the organizations of the single federated cities in which they live as they patrol around and order both troops and citizens during war and peace in the same brash manner, because that is how the Federation wants us to behave.

To _Wage War_ is necessary idiocy, as humanity can't seem to be able to cooperate with itself, nor to act as a single organism. As if those creatures weren't enough we are also killing each other, we are killing others just because they don't belong to our Federation. We don't even know who they are, or what their habits are – if they really live in anarchies, if they slay one another for fun and eat each other's flesh when they are starving, if they swear against our Heavenly Savior, or if they truly are "pokè-lovers". But what am I saying! Of course it must be true, if the Federation says so.

To _Win_ … Now, I fear that is mere propaganda, porcelain cutlery which looks exquisite, but is of no practical usefulness. Then again, the Victorious Scriptures do affirm that we will win; there is no point in denying that.

My dear reader, make no mistake: there is no point in debating _any_ of these things further. There really isn't: the Heavenly Savior comes from God Himself and, as such, it stands that the entire Federation is always right. Ultimately, what I am going to tell you will not be the history of our times; rather, it will be a story, the kind of light-hearted tale you could read in your spare time while enjoying the ever-blaring trumpets of passing platoons outside your ratty house. One devoid of any moral or practical usefulness, one which - why not? - will even heavily feature that mixture of romantic love and action that youngsters always like so much. You shouldn't think much of it: after all, it is proudly stamped in front of every school and military academy of the Federation that

 _Thought is not a requirement._


	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter I**

"I can't… I-I can't," stuttered the young man, his blood cold at the sight in front of him. The tears in his eyes were shatters of ice, slicing - not sliding - through his cheeks, but he couldn't stop crying: what he was witnessing was a scene far more brutal than he could have ever imagined.

In the meantime, the crowd had exploded: shrieks, tears, cheers. More cheers. Anarchy was reigning inside the square, a messy mass of messy men squeezed within a place too small for all of them, their jostles and screams booming noises. The boy was engulfed within the crowd, pushed and tossed around so hard he felt he was crashing full speed, barely keeping grip on his consciousness.

"What the hell are we doing? While enemies should always be treated as worthy opponents, they should also be respected in their defeat!" he screamed, desperate to find someone, anyone who would stop _that_.

Yet the crowd kept acclaiming the violent show, deaf to reason. They were not going to stop the show.

The soldiers who were controlling the area stood silent, grimacing as they watched the crowd go insane. Their role was not to reassure their citizens, but to force every single individual not to divert their sight from the scene in front of them. Neither they were going to stop what was happening.

"Why is nobody doing something? Have we lost our humanity? This! This is just savage! It's just a sadistic play on death!" he kept screaming, and screaming.

Yet the crowd cheered on, and on.

His words had been completely meaningless. He couldn't endure any more of the violence, the crowd, the voices, the chaos, and so he did the only thing he could to protect his sanity: he desperately tried to withdraw into himself, seeking air he could breathe against that drowning feeling of despair. Soon his consciousness began to drift away, as the outside world blurred its edges and its colors into darkness...

* * *

The icy feeling of a cold breeze, then images of the roads and the people of the city. The boy saw himself walking, granting a bored look to the sluggish scenery around him. Monochrome were the buildings, so similar to one another they could not prevent getting you lost, were you to wander around, although the inhabited area was anything but large; monochrome were the streets, nostalgic of a forgotten time in which they were being used and well-kept. Even the pale light that shone upon the city was gray, that cloudy day of November; you could say the same for everything else, from the scarce vegetation to the much more frequent images of propaganda, loosely attached to walls as old as the World itself.

"GLORY TO OUR HEAVENLY SAVIOR!" was written in black, bold letters in one of the posters, the one which pictured a row of tanks in front of a man standing above all of them as if he was taller than a mountain. His face was so bright it was impossible to identify him, and it was so radiating the Sun itself was put to shame. His right arm was stretched out of the small piece of paper he was barely contained within, commanding his numerous troops to march forward.

"BEWARE OF TRAITORS!" said another one. It was vertically divided into two parts, each containing a face close up: on the left a person with an angered expression of his darkened eyes and his emphasized worry lines and cheek borders, with nose piercing, and tattoos painted on every open inch of his skin - without a shred of doubt any physiognomist would have gladly indulged in that abundance of negative, evil connotations of his -; the right part showed instead the face of a bulky, ferocious monster, with a large mouth and rough skin of an unnatural blueberry color and tips and spikes pointing in every direction. It was clear the two were intentionally given the same look and facial expression.

It couldn't be said that these posters were fascinating, yet even those were eye-catching compared to everything else: at least between the usual dark gray, clay, and black of the city, the boy could also find hints of red and crimson, vivid and bright colors, for sure, but weirdly entrancing.

Eventually, a bunch of teenagers running through the road bumped into the boy, interrupting abruptly whatever journey of his mind he was lost within at that time.

"Over there!" "Come on, hurry up!" "Move it, guys, we really need to see this!"

 _They had been laughing as they had darted through the road. A strong rush of nausea hit the boy at the thought: it was disgusting to see how kids could be so playful and cynical about death. Even then he could still hear their wicked grins and chuckles as if echoing through the entire square..._

They turned left at a crossing a few meters away. It was only a secondary road, yet several people seemed to be headed in that general direction; others were looking at each other, some confused, some troubled, mumbling or checking the time, only to start moving in that same manner.

It was time. On a Sunday morning, the sheep would gather together to partake in the holy function, the church's bells merrily clanging to convince everybody to enter the parish. Similarly, the loud, crackling speakers on top of poles all around the city were sinisterly announcing that it was time, and that indeed citizens were required to be bestowed a bloody blessing that day.

 _The boy hadn't noticed it was time until that exact moment, after he had heard from the speakers the resounding reminder of the martial law condition, the trumpets march and the drum skin being violently hit. Why was he always paying so little care to everything, how could it be he was always so unaware of himself...?_

Just like everyone else, he began walking.

 _After all, even if he had always despised the practice - of course he had! - he knew well he would have never dared to defy the duty imposed on him. He was a coward, and he knew that whenever he was criticizing others – how foolish it was to believe that_ " _The Federation imposes on us, but it's a necessity,_ " _that_ " _They rule us to protect us,_ " _that_ " _The world is full of enemies, so violence is our ally,_ " _that_ " _The military are our heroes,_ " _that_ " _We can sleep in our beds without worry thanks to them._ " _\- he wasn't acting differently than anyone else, which meant he was being a hypocrite on top of it._

Soon enough the narrow road was replaced by a very crowded square. In the center a wide wooden altar was set, on top of which a black metal frame, its angled sharp blade anxiously waiting to fall. It was much wider and taller than what would be used for the size of a human body, which made it all the more unsettling.

People everywhere were moving and talking: a single convicted. A big one. A drake, even. Five meters high. No, eight. Ten, maybe. Can't be more. No, definitely not human-like – this brought a general sigh of relief, several expressions reassured, yet a few disappointed, or even upset ones.

The boy felt comforted: at the very least it was going to be easier than usual, that time.

 _Or so he had thought. And how much he was wrong..._

A dozen soldiers lined up in the middle of the wooden platform, immediately after they had raised their weapons, and stood still. A lump of medals of honor shaped in form of a man marched up there, at which they saluted. Stocky, short, but with a well-defined muscular tone, Commander Clutcher was more sparkling gold from medals than military green from his uniform, and less of visible skin than that. He would have almost been a comical figure, if only he wasn't greeted with such a disarming silence by the audience. Behind him, a gigantic metal box, as tall as the frame, was being dragged by a few soldiers to the altar, barely wide enough for it. Growls could be heard from inside it, but no one paid enough care to it, mesmerized by the voice of the commander.

"People of humanity, I do know we have to face a perilous life, day after day." he began shouting, completely ignoring the microphone next to him.

"But fear not! We are the superior species of the entire universe, and so We Shall Not Fall!" For each of those last words he pounded his chest.

"We shall reclaim what belongs to us: this planet is ours to use, and so are its pitiful creatures! A lush world awaits its conquerors, and we will make slave every single one of its beings!" He stretched his arms wide and looked at the crowd left to right.

Then he toned down his voice, following the customary of rhetoric talk. "God will avenge our children, and our men's deaths."

And then up again, like a roller coaster. "They say God betrayed us, but I tell you He did not! Such a statement is heresy! God's doing is right, and we are on His side! Pray! And have Faith: God will give us everything we want, if we are obedient." Emphasis on the "if".

"But, we also need to do our work: God does not punish the puny filth of this world by himself. Instead God sends us, the Army, to execute His word of Justice. Now, we will see His Justice!" "Justice" was more spit out than spoke.

 _The boy knew any sane priest would have declared that little speech of that little man pure blasphemy; the peculiarity of that occasion, is that no one did._

The soldiers put their weapons back with a swift two-steps movement and tapped their feet, perfectly synchronized. One after another, starting from the furthest from the commander, they walked down the altar and reached the box while readying their stun guns.

Finally, the container was opened. What a magnificent creature it contained!

It was crimson, with spots of orange on its ends and a lighter tone for its belly. It was as high as a house and as large as a ship, the shape of a fierce drake who could stand on its two beefy legs. Its shiny long claws compensated the short length of its arms, while the horn in its head could easily drill one's body; so could its pronounced jaws, which seemed made of steel. Its tail was literally burning, and so did its mouth as its roar made the ground tremble. It would fiercely gaze upon you with those dark blue eyes, bigger than one's hand! And far from being a show of raw force, its wingspan easily covered half of the entire square, and would definitely allow it to fly high and fast. What a fearsome creature...!

… Electrocuted by the soldiers, a single thunderous zap, and brought head down to the ground. The chains on its legs, arms and wings weren't allowing it any form of rebellion, and it looked severely exhausted already: scars and cuts were easily seen everywhere on its body, and its eyes seemed unable to focus - _who knows what they had done to it beforehand..._

A pained growl was all it could muster as they chained its neck and dragged it to the frame. Its gigantic body moved slowly and mechanically, almost thoughtlessly.

 _The boy knew something had been off; something in its lost eyes of a lost dog, or maybe in its shaky movements, anomalous of such a majestic body. Maybe something of its heavy breathing, something about its beaten stance or its lowered head... Truly, without the force to resist, the powerful being had been no more than a scared, lonely puppy._

It was eventually put under the shining blade, held by a single rope, and a single, fatal knot.

The crowd was silent more than ever.

Commander Clutcher gave one final look at the scene, before nodding at himself in self-contempt. As he raised his hand the bond was loosened by one of the soldiers...

… And the blade fell.

* * *

The images came back full force at the boy, to his terrified little eyes and his young, immature mind. A soldier had noticed he had fainted during the execution, and he was violently slapping him to wake him up. He didn't want to, but he was going back at the scene of the execution, he couldn't stop his mind from awakening, he was seeing the blade falling, falling, falling falling falling hundreds of times, gaining more and more momentum, rushing as it dove the dragon's neck with tremendous force...

…yet, unfortunately, the hit did _not_ kill the beast, as the blade went only halfway through.

"GYAAAAAARGHH!" it screamed in a deafening roar, its mouth wide open. The creature's nerves and vessels were gushing out along with a stream of blood and the pieces of the tongue it had itself bit. Everything was pouring out everywhere, a flood of liquid down on the crowd - the blessing had been given - and that mess of flesh, it could have been the work of the most brutal and insane butcher. The beast was bawling and bellowing, insane.

The chaos, the horror, the shrieks, the cheers, everything was back! The boy turned around to search for a focal point, something, someone who would act and stop that mess!

But once again, no one did. They left the fierce beast like that, even those few troubled by regret.

Thus the show went on. But, slowly, less and less. Panting, wheezing. Breathing, barely. Noiselessly, and finally soulless.

A dragon closed its eyes that day; it was the end of its misery.

 _May it rest in peace._


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter II**

"I want to leave."

"What?"

"I want to go outside."

"Why would you do that? It's-"

"I want to see what's beyond this poor joke of a town."

"Are you serious? _Monsters live in tall grass_!" replied the man, genuinely concerned.

The boy was losing his patience: he was both horrified and disgusted by what had happened, and the fact that such an execution was shown to all citizens methodically, each month a few of the monsters caught in the battlefield being sent to the guillotine and killed in the same manner, didn't help his turmoil. Nor did his lack of friends - not because he didn't want some, rather because he was not allowed to. After all, no right of association was granted, and everyone had to keep everyone else a stranger, family aside. That was, if you still had a family: months of massive deportations and years of deaths caused by war, poverty and abuse decimated the once global metropolis to a few labored strongholds. Furthermore, life was always overseen: every single step of every single person was known, and even if it had not, a very strict schedule had to be followed every day without fault.

He was sick of it, all of it. He didn't want to live like that anymore.

"So what?" he spit those words, each one forcing his repressed anger up his throat more and more. "I go to military school every day; I can defend myself."

"You wouldn't survive a day, you idiot!" said the man, raising into a raspier voice. "You are not a soldier, none of what you learn there means anything!"

Then he slowly exhaled from his lungs, clearly tired from the strain. "Listen, I know life is hard here, but-"

"Don't "but" me!" barked the boy.

"-my son, you can't be seriously thinking about leaving this city!" was the man's feeble reply.

"I can't live here anymore, that's what I'm thinking!" finally screamed the boy, releasing all his pent up frustration. He continued, on the verge of tears, "And... and you as well, look at how miserable we are... Even if we work all day and always do what they tell us... And... and today, did you see what happened today... Really, do you think it's okay to let this be... This is fine for you, this... you think this is fine?!"

The man was taken aback by his words. He knew well what his son was enduring: after all, he felt the same way. But he was also old, and it didn't matter to him how he was going to live the rest of his days. His boy instead, he deserved better! Yet he didn't want to lose his beloved, the only memory of his wife. And there was nothing that poor man that he was could do for him anyway, could he?

But could he have really kept ignoring that reality, that sooner or later his boy would have left him forever? He would shudder at the thought of hearing the unavoidable death that would have followed – no one could survive for long in the outside world! -, and all the gory details about his body, and the pain in his face of his last breath, and... No, that couldn't happen! He had to stop it, he had to find a way to convince his son that...!

And then, it struck him. It struck him that he was being just an old man fooling himself, one who wasn't acknowledging it was not the first time such a discussion had taken place, one who wasn't acknowledging that his son was getting more and more belligerent each time, and that one day he would have really left him forever, whether he liked the idea or not. In the end, there was no solution to the dilemma, and he could but repeat the only kind of words he'd always heard: orders.

"That's enough! I'm tired of this, and of your foolish dreams!" shouted the man, fisting the kitchen's table. "Stop crying, you're not a kid anymore! Now you listen to me, boy, you will stay in this city today, tomorrow, and every single day after that! No discussions!"

The boy stood silent.

"Have I made myself clear?"

"..."

"..."

"...You know what?" A pause. "...Go fuck yourself!" was his all but gentle reply.

"Hey! Don't you dare talk to me like...!" A door slam. "God, what am I doing..."

Quivering words, barely breathed, hints of affliction and regret. They travelled inside the room, slowly, dimly lit from a bulb on a plastic tube, his light shield lost years before. The room was mostly comprised of its cooking area: a small rectangle with very few utensils, and no more than four or five plates, all of which messily shoved inside the sink, and none of which were clean. The fridge was busted, and no electrical appliance was filling the hole above the wooden shelf the television used to sit on. Small patches of moss were growing in the walls here and there, although they were hidden well enough not to be noticeable by the commoner visitor, not much differently than an infectious illness which has spread to a few thousands in a population of millions. Not that visitors were a common thing, anyway. The ceiling was pouring droplets of water in the left corner, and the cracked floor had seen better times. Only two chairs went around the table, one of which was empty.

The man's clothes were ragged and filthy, with several cuts and a giant patch of a clashing color on the left side of his sweater. But before that, he wore a melancholy look and a frown on his mouth, enhanced by the creases all over his face. All in all, the man was complementing the room's atmosphere quite well, his big rough hands of an underpaid worker, and the odor of sweat being so often his as to become the scent a dog would recognize him for.

With a sigh, he raised the small glass full of liquor and proceeded to drink it in a single shot.

* * *

Sunday was non-working day for the boy, and as such he strolled around the cold road, idly. By contrast, he was reliving the beheading, again and again, shuddering at the thought; the shrieks, the flesh, the chaos, fearing as if the following execution was going to happen in a matter of seconds. Too often, far too often they were happening - once in a million years would have been "too often" for him. Still, they were common enough that the square was intrinsically imbibed with the stale smell of death, its air made of nitrogen and oxygen as you would expect, but also of a conspicuous amount of iron. For that reason the houses facing the square were abandoned by those unfortunate enough to reside in them, even though they knew it meant being homeless. The Federation had tried to sell them back, going as far as proposing laughable prices, still to no avail: no one wanted to live in a place so in communion with Death. Thus these buildings were left to deteriorate, giving an even more sinister look to the place as a whole.

After a passing rush of wind, the boy entered into the square itself: there it was, a once flourishing center of human activity ruined to decay. The boy glanced around, but quickly walked back into the street he came from. Others would have found some comfort in the only pleasure a man of those times could indulge into - the brothel located at the end of the road, opposite to the boy's side of the square - but he was not in the mood for it, for its single thought was nauseating of perfume in excessive doses – as it was certainly no J'adore, no Tabu, no Flower – and sticky, the same kind of sweaty and tiring feeling on your skin of a hot, damp summer afternoon.

Truly, the boy had been walking for minutes without any goal in mind. He was not restful as he tried to find an answer for that carnage, which was a question he knew no better than the answer itself.

No oblivious passerby would have noticed that, of course: for someone who had survived long enough to see the Earth revolve nineteen times around the Sun, his overall appearance was quite average, after all. His dark hair created a peculiar but likeable contrast with his pale skin, this one a common trait among the living population of the time, while his decently visible muscles showed a clue of a balanced workout, if of little practical usefulness. It could be said he was good looking, if a bit slim, but it could be also observed that he had to be quite the naive subject, truly _a vessel of fragile earthenware, obliged to journey in company with many vessels of iron_ , to quote a famous writer of an ancient era. As such, he appeared to be a peaceful, loyal subject of the regime. Instead, buried deep inside his eyes was an unclear, unfocused, minuscule sparkle, a bud of something fearsome and violent, testament of how the distorted world he was living within could influence even the purest of souls.

Under no circumstance the city was going to give an answer to his questions that day, dull as it has always been and would have always stayed, seemingly until the very end of times: very few people were outside their homes, and certainly not for fun. At times it would seem more of a ghost city, as if everyone suddenly had left without leaving a single trace. Wouldn't that be great, after all? No noise, no rules, nothing at all…

Suddenly, a shrill tune broke the monotony, soon followed by a camouflaged-colored jeep which dashed through the road. It was playing through its loud speakers the same military cacophony of loud trumpets you would hear every other hour, an absolute reminder of the martial law condition. The few citizens around stirred up their bodies at the passage, as if someone poured a bucket of cold water on them, defenceless pins ready to be taken down by the striking bowling ball. Four soldiers were on the back of the vehicle, enjoying the pedestrians' faces with a menacing look in their eyes, and an even more menacing set of weapons on them: an M9 pistol and a Colt sub-machine gun, with several magazines at their disposal. A knife in a pouch, and one or two grenades on their military uniforms. Was that a bazooka in the back of the vehicle?

Wasn't that a bit excessive? Did they really need to scare their citizens that much? Or to constrain them in all these ways, for that matter? For a brief second, a sense of rebellion sparked through the boy's nerves: he _really_ was sick of it, all of it. He was starving for freedom: freedom to go wherever he liked, whenever he wanted, without that stupid curfew. Free to speak aloud, without censorship, and free from that loud military school. And above all, he wanted to be free enough to tell all these people to fuck off, and never come back to his city and his life. How come hadn't anyone tried anything against them yet? If only the Federation wasn't that strong... Oh, such rage, such force he could feel inside him!

Frozen. His burning flame was dead at the gaze of one of the soldiers; a face fractured by its wrinkles, so deep they seemed mountains on a flat surface, and their shadows fissures caused by an earthquake. And its eyes, even light itself was scared to look into them. It was far beyond a human, far beyond a fighter, far beyond a monster. _We humans are indeed marvelous creatures: only we can be pushed beyond our natural limits, even if it means to completely abandon the same definition of "human"._ What could that soldier have ever experienced in his life, to be turned into _that_?

The contact lasted only a split second, but it felt like an eternity to the boy.

The vehicle had already shown its back to him, and it soon turned away. He could still hear the dreadful tune, which was slowly fading into a dense silence. Such had to be the destiny of your thoughts as well: they had to disappear just as they had originated, put in the innermost corner of your mind, never to be drawn back to the surface.

And so the boy continued to walk, as if nothing had happened.

After a few more minutes, he came to a halt. He was getting close to the old, abandoned outskirts of the city, downhill. Only troops stayed there, using buildings as barracks and patrolling around. A big black wall was built to divide the habitable zone from that, on top of which barbed wire and machine guns were put. It was easy enough to exit, but no one could enter: months had passed since a person last came from outside pleading to let him in, and the poor guy was shot in the head without second thoughts.

The coat of night was beginning to fall down. The clock was counting its last minute to six in the afternoon, at which something snapped in the boy's mind: he furtively climbed up the wall to look at the horizon.

There it was: a lonely flag in the distance, outside the city, barely visible with the last bit of light that came as the Sun waved goodbye to Earth. It was swaying at the soft breeze of the wind, cradling into itself and then blossoming back open. Every day, at that time, the flag would appear for a few seconds, even if, then...

"BAM!" A shot from behind. Then another, and another one. The flag was now holed in multiple spots. It eventually fell. But that didn't matter to the boy: he knew the next day it would appear once more, and that certainty alone was comforting.

Although, who was putting it? What did it mean? Was it someone asking for help, or the symbol of a powerful enemy watching over them? Truthfully, it seemed more like the little game of a child who enjoyed mocking a full-fledged army by showing up there, every day, without any reason or explanation. Indeed the nerve of such a silly act would be considered amazing, had it been done just for fun. The boy felt there was something more to it, though, for it was a strangely reassuring sight: like a friend who would knock every day and then leave before you could open the door, letting you know he will always be there for you, even if he is too shy to show his face. Realistically that was of course no more than a mere childish fantasy, yet picturing this playful friend's cackling face as he put the thing in place made him forget what had happened that day, if just for a moment.

He remembered the one time he was sent along with an entire squad to camp the site in which the flag was always appearing. They had to stay there all day, waiting for the careless being that was "fucking with us", as commander Clutcher stated, ready to end his or her existence. Yet at six o'clock, when everyone got ready for action, the flag simply popped into existence, solidly fit between two rocks a bit uphill, out of absolute and empty nothingness. No person had come, no sound had been heard, no radar had blipped, but it was there, shining in its mighty blankness – it was the whitest of flags, without any image or symbol on it – over and above a crowd of very pale and dismayed people. The commander almost got a heart attack out of the whole experience, as he started breathing heavily and sweating with the wide eyes of a madman, squeezing his breast with his hands as he looked at the victorious enemy, "A stupid pole with a fucking rag on it, of all things!"

That might have been one of the few truly amusing moments of his life. And that was enough for him to have faith in whoever was behind that recurring joke, someone stronger than an entire army and yet good-willed, and to believe there had to be something to the world other than the misery he was enduring. He felt that as long as the flag would appear before his eyes, he could endure the sadness of his society. After all,... -

-... Static buzzed the boy's ears, as the speakers gave announcement.

"Curfew begins in one hour. I repeat, curfew begins in one hour. It is now compulsory for everyone to head back home."


	4. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter III**

It rained outside. Such a shame.

Still, he wouldn't want to stay home on his special day. No, there was no way such a silly reason would stop him: he would finally fulfill his dream of becoming a Master, a Pokémon Master. After all, he would always daydream of their beauty, of their power, of how he could make them do everything he wanted; because he was always thinking about them, he believed he deserved them. He wanted one, he wanted an army of them, because he loved' em all. He would treat them very good, and make sure to pleasure them. A lot. Every day, he would be ready for them.

The monitor of the guy's desktop computer was burning a beam of light in contrast to his dim bedroom. A small logo of colors dark blue and butter was slowly appearing from the center of the gray screen as a happy jingle welcomed. _Butter, butter..._ While he left his electronic friend to wake up, the guy sluggishly walked out to the kitchen, only to come back with a bucket full of the yellow dairy product, slurping and chewing on it with an enormous spoon, his mouth open like that of a hippopotamus. His chin got dirtied with the mixture he was gnawing of saliva and milky substance foam, gelatinous more than dense.

Meanwhile, the computer seemed to be stuck on some sort of update - he thought that was really silly. Soon enough his spoon made a *tuc* sound: he had hit the bottom of the can. He began to ponder about going to pick another one, whether it was worth the effort to get up from the chair and walk all the way to the kitchen again; thankfully the operative system showed up in time to release him from such intense thinking. The monitor unwillingly showed a desktop with the picture of a naked drawn girl, with extremely round breasts as big as her face, and stripped down to a minuscule underwear provocatively tensed between the legs which covered the "precious spot" thanks to the weird from-under perspective, all while looking so red on her cheeks, with her tongue out and enough saliva in her mouth to fill a glass, she seemed more in pain than enjoying herself.

His stomach was suddenly no more an issue, something moved a bit down instead.

Squinting his eyes he looked at a tiny icon on the desktop, a folder with the original name of "New folder". He quickly tapped the mouse twice, and a window popped up. Inside were several pictures of woods with specific details encircled in red, precisely where you could see a glimpse of a shadow, and several documents filled with information of the places depicted. He really was obsessed a bit too much with pokèmon, and he felt that was a bit silly for such a respectable young man. He deleted all those ".png" files: they were not needed anymore. After all, he had finally caught that one.

Yes, finally. Sure, maybe it was a bit excessive to have it shot it in its leg... ups, sorry, her leg, rather. Still, he firmly believed all he had done, and all he was going to do, was necessary to capture them. With force, because they would resist him. That was absolutely shameful, but he would excuse them for such behavior: after all, they couldn't possibly know beforehand how much of a wonderful person he was, could they? Of course he would then teach them to stop being so silly, because he cared for them. With force, if necessary.

He was hyper that day, he couldn't deny it, bopping up and down his chair. He couldn't wait anymore: after toying a bit with his computer, opening and closing folders and programs, he left everything and sprinted off, down the winding staircase. As he made his way down, he could already hear the muffled whimpering of a soft voice.

"Nobody will hear you!" he shouted to her. "Don't worry, my dear. After all, I love you, don't I? I know you also love me. You are just too shy to admit it, aren't you?"

Then he turned the knob and opened the door to the room the creature was in. "Why are you looking at me that way? Come on, don't be silly..."

* * *

The boy was walking steadily, stepping on the wet cement and over several puddles of water; they would soundly spill out as his foot sank into them, but then shape back as more drops gathered. Rain was hitting harder and harder, forcefully smashing against the ground, the strong wind waging war, howling and throwing everything in its direction. He thought it really was a fitting day for what he had been through.

The young man was reaching the south inner gate, which seemed to be defended by just two soldiers. Coming up with an excuse to pass through was not hard, and he knew the person on the right, who had been his instructor in the past, and the other he'd seen him at least a few times. He could just say something meaningless like "They had ordered me to patrol with the regular troops today." or "I have an important message for the general." and they would have let him pass, most likely. Yet he was nervous, as if an ambush was being set up for him. Did they knew he was trying to run away? Maybe they did. Actually, he was certain they did; they always knew everything. He began thinking it was a bad idea to confront them: maybe he had to go back. But then again, he couldn't simply forget the only hope he had lived with. So he wou-

"Yes?" inquired the man on the right, as if he was trying to bite.

The boy did not reply, disoriented by the blunt question.

"Hey! Don't make me waste time!" shouted the man.

The boy blinked. "Oh, s-sorry, sir. I was in a daze." He then quickly gave a glance around and stiffened, chest out and arms along the torso, before answering with a more masculine voice. "Sir, they asked me to replace private Ryan who is ill today." he said, accompanied by a quick bow of the head.

"Where's the general's permission?" Suddenly requested a nasal, high-pitched voice. It was coming from the other soldier, a tall and skinny individual who could be defined as cockiness made person.

 _What do I do now? Shit. Fuck that guy,_ thought the boy while keeping his cool outwardly. But he couldn't finish the thought process, as the major sergeant shouted back at the other man.

"Did I give you the right to speak?" blurted out the sergeant.

"Sir, I…, " stuttered the other man.

"Did I give you the fucking right to speak? Do I have to remind you how you fucking screwed up this morning, you fucking imbecile piece of crap!?" barked the instructor. He screamed louder and louder, his face redder and redder as his rage made his face tremble. "You deserved the death penalty for all that shit you put me up with, you slimy little communist shit twinkle-toed cock-sucker fairyfuckingodmother!"

He then concluded the flawless, impeccable, balanced to a british-degree reasoning: "I decide if I want to see the stupid shit signature or not! Is it fucking clear?"

"Yes, sir!" feebly replied the other man, pale as a ghost. The boy couldn't help smirking a bit.

The sergeant then took a big breath, and "You, go," he grunted back at the boy.

The boy quickly thanked the instructor, and went on his way.

 _Well, that was lucky_ , he thought. Indeed it had been.

* * *

The road began its descent and so did the whole old suburban zone, which made it easy for the falling drops of water to travel further, a slippery torrent down a mountain of cement. The place was filled with buildings whose height was a bit more than the ones the boy was used to: they were great for sniping and for setting camps, if they were stable enough; on the top of a few of them it was possible to dominate even a few kilometers in length, reaching the end of the entire area. As much as everything was deteriorating and leaving space for a wilder green, it was much unlike a doomsday movie in which you would find cars, poles and other things all scattered and wrecked throughout the place: everything was actually rather clean, even if completely deserted.

The boy covered at least a pair of kilometers before straying from the main street, waiting for none of the passing soldiers to be in sight. By that time it became dark, which made it easier to sneak through the city without being spotted. That was a relief, because getting further and further he had to be more and more careful as well: fewer and fewer excuses would have saved him were someone to find him. He tried to stay close to any kind of wall as much as he could, making sure to be ready to hide whenever a flare was lit in the sky. He knew he'd passed at least a few machine guns and several sniper rifles, luckily unnoticed.

After an hour or so of careful progress, Mother Nature softly closed her eyes, leaving the boy to finally ease himself in the soothing silence of a rain-less night. He had reached the outer gate, and could catch a breath or two and sit for a moment, as he heard the few parting taps of water down the ground. He was sure no one ever patrolled that far - it was both dangerous and useless. The only time footsteps would resonate in the area would be if someone were to pass to either go working in the mines for excavations or in the outer fields to gather resources, which wouldn't have happened before two or three hours.

He made one last step, passing under the glorious arch which allowed the passage to the outside world, majestic if only for its raw dimensions; it had once overseen friends and foes, merchants and thieves, nobles and beggars, prosperity and hardship and, ultimately, decadence. A once fervent society, filled with the best technology and hope for a better life for all humankind, destroyed by greed, by power, by the _Banality of Evil_.

The arch had overseen him as well many times in the past, whenever he would visit his grandmother, the images of a little house and its cozy hearth between two delightful hills. But then the lovely old woman had died, and nothing but memories of her were left. The boy felt no sadness at the flashback, though: very well he remembered her simple, understanding smile, and that was all he needed to gather his strength back.

He had made up his mind, a definitive decision being taken. He turned around, "One last time." as he told himself, to see the light-less city in the distance.

Up the hill, there it was; dark, almost engulfed by the cloudy heavens, yet peacefully quiescent, frozen in its own little world, only to be awoken by the scathing, sudden flash of the sporadic spotlights used by the army. They would then tell the drowsy kid that it was all right, that nothing had happened, that he could go back to sleep without worry. The soldiers did care about their citizens, all things considered, didn't they?

Even so, he felt no remorse. He wanted more from his life, whatever the risk or the toll. Raising his legs, one at a time, he began to venture forward, waving goodbye to that precious child which he as well loved. He gave one last glance to his name, barely visible on the arch:

 _Welcome to the City of Stadkerk_

* * *

Sleeping can be off-putting when you are used to the comfortable bed of your home and instead, you find yourself looking at the sky, but it is certain such a sensation can be easily replaced by a shining, bright sun welcoming yet another day. The boy didn't want to give food to this relaxing feeling, though: he had an important objective in his mind, and because of that he woke early, resting only the necessary to stay sharp. He didn't want to waste time, knowing it would take him the entire day just to reach the location the flag was usually spotted at while traveling alone, far from any form of civilization. He drank a bit of water from his pouch, promptly executed a few warm-up exercises, and finally packed up his things from the small spot in which he had set camp the night before; in just a quarter he was ready to tackle the creatures of the forest which laid ahead of him.

The lush scenery was not completely new to his eyes, but would quickly make him replace his wariness and rational thinking for pure amazement. Every inch of the greenwoods ahead of him was bursting with life: worms eating from the maple trees, the red ones with those little yellow horns, the green ones which used leaves as cover for their bodies, the violet ones and the ones with a needle on their head – you had to be careful around those last two, as they were poisonous; a few grey, tiny butterflies with markings of the three primary colors, playing around, so beautiful at the sight, and those other ones with their red compound eyes, maybe not very safe to be around - their white wings could release a powerful toxin; birds cheerfully singing, those with a white belly and a blue swallowtail, or those other aggressive ones, always with a grumpy face on their brownish skin, and the fastest of them, those grey ones with a flame-shaped belly; the occasional careful, hidden fox, the rarest ones of which had six curled tails, creature of myths and legends. Plants were as alive as the fauna, the patches of grass waving (and sometimes... taking out their little legs for a stroll?), the sunflowers happily bobbing their heads; and the white birch, the high cypress, the chestnut tree squirrels were so thrilled about, the beech, all of them filtering the sun rays to protect the other life forms in a leafy, motherly embrace. Colors were brilliant and joyful.

The boy could be content by just walking and observing the scenery, a fresh breath of newness from his usual routine. The muddy path was steep, but clear, which made it impossible to lose the right way. Since a long time, he was happy.

After a few good hours of hiking the boy stationed by a small brook. He was now focused once more on what he had witnessed – or, rather, not witnessed - the day before, and was trying to reason around what to do. He couldn't come up with a strong resolve, as he had no idea what had happened in the first place, but his apprehensive nature wouldn't let go of the question.

"Ok, let's review what I know, once more." he said, and closed his eyes for a moment to empty his brain. He slowly inhaled, and th-

... His heart skipped a beat. He had heard something: a low, buzzing hum in the distance. He had immediately recognized it.

He had to get away from there, fast. He started running diagonally from the direction he had first perceived the danger from, hoping to avoid the confrontation, but quickly realized the storm of gigantic bees was already surrounding the entire area in a wide circle around him, as their noise was coming from every direction.

Formidable foes they were: one was enough to kill a man, thanks to the poisonous stingers which grew in place of their - sort of - hands. Truthfully, they were more like drills, which they violently used to charge and pierce repeatedly their enemies in Fury, over and over and over and over and over. If that was not enough, they always had a spine on their tail, with a slower but deadlier poison to finish weakened opponents. They would move incredibly fast, at an almost imperceptible rate for the human eye, and move in a flock whenever angered, as they were the most territorial creatures of all.

The boy quickly backed where he came from, sprinting full speed through the woods. He strayed from the track, hoping to let the enemies lose some mobility, and sneaked in the densest part of the forest, where he could see only a dozen meters ahead of him. The buzz was now clearly audible, the sound of a chainsaw getting closer and closer. Running, running as fast as he could he tried to find a spot in which to safely hide, knowing how little good trying to truly escape would do for him. Any refuge, – inside a tree, under a rock, between two stumps - seemed useless. As the noise started to physically hurt his ears he began to panic, realizing there was not much he could do. He took out his pistol, sat in the least worthless place he could find and prayed to get a quick, painless ending.

"Bzzzzzt!"

As much as he was a soldier, he really was not ready. He didn't notice anything until the last moment, and even then he couldn't find a way to escape. Why were the bees taking so much? Did they enjoy to make him suffer in desperation? Every second did feel like an eternity.

"Bzzzzzzzzzt!"

 _Am I going to die? Am I going to die?!_

He was a kid, after all. Just a nineteen years old boy. His heart was bursting out, his head was spinning. He could vomit any moment.

"BZZZZZZZT!"

He was no super hero, and no grown man. _Please, please!_ He should have listened to his father. He was trembling, clinging to every instant, praying for the next one not to be the last, then praying for it to be over quickly, then wishing for the following one not to be The One, and so on.

Finally, It came. It was towering over him with its bright yellow body and cutting the air around with its wings; it was looking at the young man with those insensitive eyes of an insect, shaking left and right in impatience and rage. It was angry, the boy could feel it.

The boy immediately fired a shot, which hit the creature's stomach. Immediately, a loud shrieking, high-pitched chaos.

An instant later, the boy felt numb, and the need to regurgitate something.

The young man was pouring out his own blood, something else along with it. The bee had its stingers piercing his inner, twisting and ripping his guts. He vomited red again as the creature finished him off by pulling away its arms.

It was quickly over. The last thing the boy saw was a world filled with those black striped beasts, all with the same angrily dull look in their eyes.

Then white.

 _It's a sad thing that your adventures have ended here._


	5. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter IV**

 _Falling, falling…_ Was he underwater? His sight was too blurry to tell. Noises were opaque and distant, his body wavering in a swallowing air. He tried to move his left hand, then his legs, his head, his eyes. He couldn't.

Shortly enough he gave up; after all, he was so tired...

 _Falling, falling…_

… At the bottom depths of a dark jail, whose metal bars were trunks of trees. The entire ground quivered at the high-intensity noise, as if the place was surrounded by speakers playing at the peak of their capacity. Out of nowhere, as the boy was covering his aching ears, the buzzing, trembling, vibrating blade of the creature sliced through the boy's body once again. His rib cage cracked like an egg, slowly pouring out the warmth of his dense fluids as he looked in anguish the red eyes of his killer. Every ounce of his skin was crying, his brain exploding, his heart bursting. He strived to get free, he tried to look for someone to help, he forced himself to scream. But, no freedom, no help, and no voice.

No sound, no stinger, nothing was stuck inside him; it had never been in the first place. None at all, never had. No blood, not a body, the one which had just been so painfully his. The vision had stopped into complete emptiness and silence, and he was left…

 _Falling, falling…_

… Inside a candle-coloured room, void in all directions and infinitely. Empty, but restful to the eye and calming to the body; not bright, nor too crushing. A flooring with the texture of a cloud, and a ceiling made of snow; a light air with the slightest flavor of incense, of that small dose which is genuinely pleasant. The only sound a soothingly deep voice, what remains of a single, delicate note of piano after playing it. Such a peaceful place, the mind of a pure being only could make. The boy could stay in contemplation there forever: any worry, any problem, any apocalypse were far, far away, as distant as the stars in the sky – no, not even – as distant as a world of happiness would be from Earth.

Out of curiosity, the young man bashfully leaped a step. The scenery dimmed to waver in shades of cerulean, dark, and midnight blue. The room became much smaller as the several slow, paler shapes moved around the spherical ceiling, crossing over one another, drawing arches and waves on the sky. It was as if someone was casting them there for the sole purpose of entertainment. It resembled the bottom of an ocean, if a lonely one: a profound, submerged reality, hidden to everyone else.

It was such a marvelous place. Was that what heaven looked like?

Then, he noticed. A feminine figure was knees down on the ground, looking at the distant nothingness. She was giving her back to the boy, hidden by a soft garment too big for her slender body. The curves of her body were still clearly visible, though; rather, she seemed to be the only focus the boy could manage after spotting her. He was left thoughtless at the sight and, even without seeing her face, he was sure she was most graceful and beautiful. There was no doubt about it: he knew that and, with the same confidence, he felt he was familiar with her, he felt he knew what her exact thoughts, even. So close he was to that ethereal soul of another dimension, he thought for a moment his eyes had to have been playing tricks on him – she was so far, and yet he could feel her soft, thin breath, as if he was centimeters away from her. Was she aware she was sharing that existence with someone else?

The boy awkwardly stepped back for a moment, not willing to disrupt the harmony of such a mysterious and angelic presence. As soon as he did, she moved. But she did not turn to him: rather, she slowly raised her gentle hand from the ground, moving along her upper body in a single, sinuous movement, upwards. She slightly tapped, with just the end of her index finger, an invisible flat surface, which bent to her like a mirror of water and resonated across the entire room, a wave of crisp air, a new, lighter note of the piano. The entirety of the place gently wobbled all over.

An immense joy rushed through the young man. But, it was becoming harder for him to keep looking at that enchanting world. His sight was more muffled, the colors more confused. He rubbed his eyes more than once: he wanted the incredible vision not to be over, but even his own touch was getting numb. That siren was going to play another note soon, he was sure! Not soon enough, though. He fainted; just a bit sooner than that, he thought of how disrespectful it was for him to make so much noise by falling to the ground, a heavy thump disrupting such peace...

* * *

A clock was ticking regularly. One, two, three seconds passed. It still didn't transform into a monster, or an angel inside the dreams of a young boy, which made it safe to assume it would then proceed to remain the most regular and boring of clocks for the rest of his lifetime. At any rate, it was marking the correct time on the left side of his quadrant – minute less, minute more: seven hours and thirteen-eight.

"How can you be you worried about the time after sleeping for so long, my friend?"

The voice took the boy by surprise. It was fresh but collected, if a bit low-key. Whose was it? The boy turned his head to the side of the bed - only at that point did he realize he was laying on a bed - to see a man, around his forties, standing at his side. His expression seemed cordial enough and he did look genuinely worried about his condition, so the boy let himself relieve his tension. He then tried to gulp down a bit of saliva, quickly realizing of thirsty he was.

"Here. Drink a bit," said the man as he offered a glass of water.

The boy didn't need to be told twice. He gulped its content, then sighed in relief.

"So, how are you feeling, young champ?" asked the man.

Was he joking? His head was spinning, his eyes were hurting whenever he closed them, and he felt his throat was so much on fire he thought he could start spitting fire like a dragon (which he promptly tried to do by breathing forcefully with his jaw open because, you never know, right?) Every other part of his body was numb: his arms, his belly, his legs, even that other, precious part down there. That, in particular, scared him for a moment.

"Like shit," he replied, quite straining himself to emit those few syllables.

"Good! That's the best answer I've heard since I became a surgeon five years ago! It has _sur gone_ well for you! Oh oh! Oh oh oh oh oh!"

 _Is this person for real?_ commented the boy in his mind, and then tried to roll his eyes; unfortunately, even that hurt, making him bite his lips.

"Seriously though, if it wasn't for me you'd be pretty much dead. I mean, you were quite lucky I had heard the swarm" - the man started to count with his left hand. -, "had the balls to rescue you, found you barely alive, all of that while being a surgeon with a team ready to work, and enough... replacement organs."

"Wait, what?" The boy instinctively jumped out of the blanket, laying back immediately thereafter with a grunt of ache.

"Hey, now, do not strain yourself! Listen, you were in critical conditions and we had to do a bit of transplant."

The boy looked like a lost puppy at the news.

"Nothing extraordinary, I assure you." - his voice deepened. - "It needed to be done, there was no other solution."

The boy nodded. He knew well transplants were hardly without complications, but at least he was alive.

"Thank you, doctor," he sincerely said. A second afterwards, something seemed to trouble him.

"Do I-"

"-It's my job, kiddo. You don't have to repay me or anything like that," the surgeon interrupted.

The boy nodded once more. He spoke another feeble "Thank you." before sighing and closing his eyes for a moment. He was quickly realizing the truth in the man's word: he never moved from the bed, yet the little gestures he had done up to that point had exhausted him already.

"Just try to rest as much as possible. We spent a lot of effort to heal you, you know? Don't let it go to waste, not after everything I did to your... Err, give your body time to rest, okay?"

The boy was sure he had glared at the man with the most intimidating and wary expression a half-dead person such as him could manage in the situation. In response, the man kept staring back with the simplest, good-natured of fake smiles and intermittent cackles of "eh eh eh"s, while scratching his short hair.

 _I don't know if I can trust this guy,_ thought the boy between himself.

"Take it easy. You'll be fine if you just follow my indications: they are really _incisive_! Oh oh! Oh oh oh oh oh!" teased the surgeon as he started to spin around while laughing uncontrollably.

 _Oh, absolutely I can't!_

* * *

One month of fevers, nauseating medicines and sleep were needed for a substantial improvement in the boy's health. The clock was his only real company during that time, as the surgeon was working for the largest part of the day. Being without a registry office certificate of the city he was brought to, the boy's presence had been hidden to everyone during that time by the crafty middle-aged friend: he stayed in the small, simple room he had first awoken in for the whole month. There wasn't much to look at: a bed, an empty wardrobe, a window on the opposite side, always a split open and halted by some red curtains with wavy motifs at their bottom; a few shelves with some boring books, mainly about organs and compounds of carbon with their chemical reactions, not certainly the kind of exciting novel the boy would have appreciated a bit more in the circumstance.

During the small periods he was not asleep the young man was left to either worry about what he would do if his conditions were to suddenly drop – how could that man be so sure he was already safely out of danger that an intravenous feeding and a portable… _pissoir_ was all he needed, without anyone to look after him in case of an emergency? - or think back about what had happened to him. His memory was fuzzy in that regard; he remembered very well those vermilion eyes of his assailant, and he could also recall shooting at it, yet he would shudder at the blank his mind was creating every time he would try to bring back what followed. He also knew he had run away from home and that he had left his father for it, but weirdly enough he could not recollect what he ran away for. He shrugged the question, soon enough, as that was the least of his worries, and he had decided to stay in the city he had been brought to for the time being. Thirdly, he would simply pass some days fighting to bear the pains of his physique and the compelling urge to vomit he always had to contain.

As time passed, he slowly became able to walk again, albeit with a bit of help and only for short distances. Even months afterwards, an achy mind or stomach would happen to him every so often, along with an unvaried feeling of tiredness and lack of energy. When he finally managed to snuck into the outside world, if just from the window of his room, it was quite a let down to see not much but bare white buildings all around; the surgeon promptly explained he lived in a residential area specially built for research, near the City's Cathedral; that desolated scenery he had just viewed was all he was going to enjoy for quite a while.

Then the boy became talkative and got to know better the man that saved his life. He wasn't the best physically, and he confessed his underworked body was an issue related to his laziness only. He seemed a nice person, light-hearted and gritty; he was to be dedicated to his work, which the absence of a wife or any other family helped. Was having a family prohibited by the army for a surgeon like him, so that he could not reveal secrets or similar things? What kind of things, then? Was the fact alone something worthy prying about? The boy never had the guts to ask – it seemed inappropriate, and ended never knowing much else about that, or him in general, as the man always kept quite reserved with personal information. Still, he would spend a little bit of time with the boy every evening, asking how he felt and checking for problems. It did seem suspicious at first that he would keep him so hidden – was it that hard to get a permit to stay in the city until he was cured? - but as he depicted the very gray dictatorship outside, the same the boy was so used to, it made all these precautions easily understandable. That might have also meant the surgeon was risking his career for him, maybe his own life! It could not be but deeply respected.

"...And then the guy who went through brain surgery said: No, _I changed my mind_. Oh oh! Oh oh oh oh oh oh!"

 _If only his sense of humor was a bit better…_

* * *

"Yes, the army has been here since a year ago or so," commented the surgeon. The two of them were sitting in a biblioth-esque room, around a small wooden table – rather, the boy was laying as much as possible on his chair, the stuffed one, far more comfortable than the one the man was using – and they would ask forth and answer back about any kind of topic. Eventually, the tone shifted to a serious mood, as the boy got interested in listening to what had been the surgeon City's state of being, after telling about his own.

"We knew they were going to come months before they actually did, but there was not much to do in the meantime, other than waiting for them to arrive and take over the place. Some of the people actually tried to convince us to fight: they called themselves the "Free Gazelles". Stupid bunch of hyped kids who believed resistance would bring us any good. As if! I wasn't one of them and I'm not ashamed to say I promptly bowed down to the Federation as soon as I could; after all, none of those rebels are alive as of today. All useless anyway, not without any serious firepower. In the end they only brought three or four days of wasteful skirmish, a hell that destroyed half of the city and that we citizens had never experienced in our lives – God those two poor women that got their stomachs holed by a shotgun, what a mess they became. They were so beautiful..." he murmured, emptily looking at the air for a few seconds. The boy was touched.

"I think it's foolish to try to make this world 'better'. What does that even mean? I want to live my days, not die because of some stupid ideals." At the remark, the boy tried to hide his face was sneering.

That terribly hidden reaction troubled the man, who looked at the boy with concern and, soon enough, spoke again to make him reason. "I see that sparkle in your eyes, boy. It's the same I had once. It is..." - he paused for a second. - "Listen, kid: do not try to be a hero. Never."

He spoke again after another pause. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you have already proven yourself too weak for this world. I'm sure you got that part right, you are not an idiot. Still, you won't give up on your pretty ideals, won't you? Because if you don't, it means you haven't learned how to live properly, trust me."

The boy looked at that surgeon around his forties in a new way for the first time: there was some lingering hostility in the air between the two of them. The young man immediately regained his composure, realizing how petty it was to argue, and how it was just proving his points more.

"Kiddo, it's nothing personal," concluded the surgeon. "I'm only saying this for your own well-being."


	6. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

 ** _DOUBLE WARNING:_** _Esp_ _ecially in this chapter_ ** _(_** ** _Rape_** **).**

* * *

 **Chapter V**

Again. Again and again. The swine was at it again.

Didn't he come before? Was he still not satisfied for the day? Maybe it was another day – did that mean she was losing the track of time, that she was losing her consciousness? If she had stayed awake she would have definitely noticed the change of date, after all. So, it was likely; that would have explained why her head was spinning like crazy. Well, it wasn't like it mattered anyway.

How much longer? She just wanted him to go away. That day he was smelling even worse than his usual piss-stained shirt rubbed of soggy butter. It was disgusting. As he was moving her insides, she shivered at the cold, icky layer of his sweater more than anything else.

It was the worst. She had already learned not to care about the crawling feeling in her violated body, she could just close her eyes and forget it; it helped he was never facing her. (at least he could had the decency to do that, to look into her eyes.) But that feeling, she could not-

Suddenly he grabbed her and began moving with more force. – … that revolting smell, she was not able to endure. She thought it would start to infect her: she would start to smell like him, she would emanate that same sweaty illness through gross, bubonic skin that would cover her wholly. She would rather kill herself than live with that.

Every time he came downstairs he was more and more nauseating. If she could at least puke... but her stomach was nothing more than dried bread and water. Actually, she did think she was-

He began moving faster. It hurt, a lot. But it was a good thing, it meant he was almost done, so she clung her hands to the chains she was locked with, and endured. - … she was going to puke, she was sure of it. She tried to gulp to help a bit; her eyes answered by dropping a tear or two. Then she waited.

Nothing, she was not throwing up. Goddamn her weak, pathetic body. At least seeing her digesting acids on the gray, dirty wall in front of her would have been something new. It was not ticking a second, that recurring hell she was living. Her owner was not going to clean it, she was sure of that: at least she could have kept her nose close to it and sniff her stench to hide his much worse smell.

As those were her thoughts, the man kept shouting monosyllables, without restraint, for the good time he was having. He just pushed and pushed, without even caring when he was going to finish, for the simple reason he could do it again whenever he wished. Before ending he would moan louder, from the cry of a seal to that of a whale; she still didn't care, as she was desperately closing to herself, deaf to any noise.

Finally, he was done. For the moment, he was done. Even waiting for him to zip his pants as he looked at her - such a silly creature she was! - and leave seemed to take an eternity. Every time it was hard, every time it was becoming harder to endure the process: her body was fever-ly shaking, her head terribly sweating, her heart pumping violently. She damned her feminine, fragile body.

Chained, beaten up, physically and psychologically destroyed, the creature was still not admitting defeat. In fact, she still wanted to preserve something: her pair of red, vivid, most beautiful eyes were still shining in all that darkness, ones which no sorts of genetics or magic tricks could hope to achieve, for the disappointment of all the rich, female human that asked for those.

They were jewels, carefully nestled inside their white turf, hidden treasures of Gaia Mother. No pupil, but a kaleidoscope of shapes and forms like crystals bound together was inside those smooth spheres of her, rapidly spinning at any solicitation, like a ballerina, widening to the smallest of beats, brightening or darkening as a reaction to the outside world or her body in anger, in happiness, in joy, in depression, in fear, in passion. _All of these, scattered in leaves through the universe, were bound up together with love in her two volumes only_. They were skies of infinitely blended colors, oceans of rushing waters in crimson reds, calmer or blazing, edges of a cherry above a floor of ruby; they had magenta and violet touches here and there, perfect impurities of a painter's proud work, which seemed to move like a constellation of stars, and likewise light they would not reflect, but emanate: a pale, sweet, purple light.

Those eyes were gentle, those eyes were soothing, those eyes were a mixture of purity and depth, those eyes would cradle you and make you forget completely yourself, forever. Those eyes could be alluring as well, with their long eyelashes. She would keep her face slightly tilted, her mouth barely open as if to kiss you, leaning closer; she would faintly breathe in and out, and you would find yourself already lost, by just looking at those eyes.

She was protecting them from him, she would never show them to him, she would hide them and show him fake, soulless, emotionless eyes. He was not even trying to see them, nevertheless; that was despicable, that was ugly, that was unforgivable, that he would abuse her body, but not her beauty.

Those beautiful eyes, which were her whole world and her whole being, in that particular instance were crying.

* * *

 _Glorious Odysseus, I'd rather serve as another man's laborer, as a poor peasant without land, and be alive on Earth, than be lord of all the lifeless dead._

"It's from the Odyssey, eleventh book. Odysseus travels to the Underworld and makes a sacrifice to the souls of the dead in order to know his future fate. Among those shadows is Swift-footed Achilles, the Greek demigod who had irately fought in the war of Troy."

The boy was pondering, looking at the passage written in the book he was holding. A few months had passed since he was first rescued, and his health issues had finally started to worn out. He was fit again, ready to start anew, even if it would still take him a while to get fully back in shape; he tried to reduce such time by doing physical activity twice his norm whenever his body allowed for it. That also meant coming to a decision about his future: that was the far harder toll on his shoulder, compared to the literal weights he was using for those series of push-ups he would do.

"He is the main character of the Iliad, and also makes a small appearance in this book. Here he states that looking back, he would have rather chosen to live a long life, devoid of glory, than the short one he had opted for."

Once again, he was talking with the surgeon about the proposal of leaving the City he had lived his last few months in, an idea which came into shape more and more as the boy's conditions improved. The young man knew what being in a regime meant, and he definitely didn't want to be stuck once more in that same situation – a worse one, even, because he was without the care and company of his father, which he had given up to attempt freedom. Though the thought of re-encountering such a scarring, life threatening experience and of living by himself, fearing everyone and everything, scared him to death. The surgeon would always wisely try to discourage him from the insane idea, and would always leverage such points to his favor.

"That is, the goddess Thetis, his mother, had told him those were the two ways he could have met his end."

The boy then would reply that he didn't really know if that was the kind of life he wanted; he didn't want to be isolated from society, he just wanted... a 'better' society? To change what was unfair, to stop the ridiculous War that was waging even though no one even knew who to fight against anymore. Someone had to do it, he would exclaim, and there was no way he could have accomplished anything from the inside. He had to leave, he had to search an answer outside, he would argue.

"His response was: 'I shall not return alive but my name will live forever', and then followed through that decision to his last breath, sacrificing himself for a greater good that never actually came," finished lecturing the surgeon.

"And you imply that on top of that, he regretted his choice," commented the boy.

"Undoubtedly he did."

The boy stood silent for a while. He mentally replied it was only a myth, yet he could not but acknowledge that some truth was in those words: after all, if even an all-powerful hero, a killer of thousands, a demigod of war was struggling with the matter, an insignificant little boy like him definitely had no say in it. The boy really wished for a different world, but who didn't of his era? And if he had no means of reaching such a high objective, he was no different than anyone else. What would his dead corpse be good for?

"What am I supposed to do then? Should I just... give up on everything?" he reluctantly asked.

"Oh now, don't be tragic," said the surgeon. "You sound like it's either all or nothing! You know, I'd tell you a _chemistry_ joke to cheer you up, but I know I wouldn't get a _reaction_! Oh oh! Oh oh oh!"

"Please..."

"Okay, okay, sorry about that."

The man turned around at his desk, still chuckling for his "brilliant" joke and trying at the same time to hide his laughs like a kid who can't contain his emotions. He browsed through a few sheets and papers, then picked up something.

"Here, take a look at this."

He handed a blue folder. It contained several sheets, all of them having some or some other data about the boy, especially about where he was found, how he had recovered, what he looked like. There also were a few photos of his face and body both before and after the surgical operation he had done.

He stared at these latter ones in shock, eyes wide open: he really had been a mess. A pile of meat and twisted entrails gushing out in dark fluids was in place of his torso, to the point the holes the buzzing monster had created were not even visible. One rib was out in the open, clearly out of place. He imagined the whole thing trying to live and breathe, its intestines out in the air pulsating up and down, as the liver followed. The boy instinctively glanced down, then back at the photos. He touched his torso and slowly dragged his hand to examine every organ and every bone, compulsively checking that everything was in its place.

Indeed it was. Yet the sight reeked of decomposition, and death. How in the world did that team of surgeons "magically" fix him? That could be called anything but a "routine operation". And though just living through that would be unthinkable, recovering in just four months was way off any reasonable argument. What was the surgeon hiding from him?

After a few seconds, the boy couldn't stand the sight anymore. He violently closed the dossier, before dumping it on the ground.

"Did you just show me those just to scare me, and make me change my mind?!" spit the boy, in pent up anger and restraint.

"No, I did not!" shouted the surgeon with a clear, controlled voice. "Look at the rest of the documentation, will you?"

The boy wore an expression of clear warning: if he was to pull another sickening trick like that he would have not hesitated to jump on him.

Then he slowly picked up the dossier. More documents: a few of them were half-empty or completely blank; the last one in particular, though, had to be filled with basic information such as name, age, date of birth, signature.

" **The Federation welcomes you aboard** " was written in bold characters at the top of the paper.

"I talked with a 'friend' of mine. He got me a permit for you to live in this city so that you can settle down. You are going to work as a soldier, which is a privilege, far better than anything else as of these times," proposed the surgeon.

Yet the boy didn't seem enthusiastic at the idea.

"It's been four months since I have found you; everything considered, I'd say you are fit to strain your body once again. And you do need to have a job: I'm not going to feed you for the rest of your days, even if I could. I'm not your father," concluded the man.

The boy gave no reply at first, lost and conflicted in thought. In the end, as he was presented with the reality of things, "All right," grumbled the boy, and he gave up.

* * *

A few cars were dashing through the streets, motors rumbling as the boy had never heard so often in his life. The city was noisy of people walking through the sidewalks, chatting and laughing while enjoying an appetizer at a cafè, or dining in some of the frequently placed restaurants and pizzerias. Fountains and aisles decorated the main roads, and the garden of the city sat ample, and felt truly open; elderlies were resting by the benches, kids were darting to catch the football they were cheerfully playing with. He would later discover the city had a university, a library, a gym, a swimming pool, a theater, and quite the selection of bars to enjoy during Saturday nights, which were brimming of blues, yellows, violets of neon tubes and lights of high buildings and entrance signs of pubs. Dresses were no less flashy, either: young gentlemen in black or white nightshirts, unbuttoned not just once, but fully open, and red or dark gowns for the share of women who weren't simplifying and going out with just golden brassierès and undergarments.

His hometown was nothing more than stone age prehistory compared to the bliss of the City. All that fervent human activity was truly mesmerizing for a village boy like him, if a bit intimidating at first. He felt small and excited, a new kind of life waiting for him. He ended up wasting his first night of free roaming feeling embarrassed and going in circles around a few streets for a good two hours and even then, he managed to get lost.

Grass was painted a pale green by the warm sun that rose the following day. Its patches were perfectly tidied, almost too perfectly: in truth, there were no worms, no bees, no birds anywhere to be seen, but the boy didn't really pay worry to it. More than anything, he was paying full attention to the road as he didn't want to be late for his first day of military training.

Twenty minutes later he was facing the barracks, and ten more he was presenting himself to the-)£T34S=A)£RH24"£)%R

**ERROR: /ACCESS NOT GRANTED TO PARAGRAPHS 5/34, 5/35, 5/36, 5/37. /

"Yeah, maybe this life is not going to be so bad as I thought," he admitted that same evening to the surgeon. The man promptly answered with one of his jokes which, for the sake of the reader's sanity, I do not present here.


	7. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter VI**

… And he threw up, too nauseated to care that his jacket would have stained by the greenish regurgitation of his stomach. He tried to prop himself to the glossy black wall behind him, only to slide to the ground.

The boy stood like so for a few minutes. He looked at the pyramidal ceiling of the discotheque, with its hundreds of triangle-shaped glasses opening like a telescope to the starry night, and he was bewitched by the stroboscopic show of lights: purple crazing to the electronic claps and percussions, vibrating low blue for the thumping bass, flickering green after a snare, flashing red and yellow to the beats, and intersecting left and right to create an even wider variety of bright colors. Lasers would go round in flowers and form roads at the melody, rave at the increase of the volume, higher and louder; waiting a single second of darkness, and finally exploding at the drop, a tornado of lights whose center was the Dee Jay.

Yelling, cheering, jumping, people were moving as grass dancing in whirlwinds, as water in a crashing mass, as playful fire burning from the tip, not the bottom, releasing their whole selves to the upbeat music of speakers bouncing at full power. That irresistible night the moon was high, drinks were higher, and the young were flying.

 _~ ...Out there!..._ ~ were singing the lyrics.

The young man tried to get back up once more – beer still in hand – but miserably failed. One more effort was needed as he mustered all his might to finally succeed and, after wobbling like a pudding, plunging himself amidst the crowd once again. He would ask himself where his friends were, but it was too hard to tell in the confusion. It was not like it mattered: nothing did. He was carefree and happy, and that was all he needed. Truly, that was everything he had ever wished for: drinks, music, occasional friends, fulfilling experiences to enjoy, day after day.

 _~ ...Yourself out there!..._ ~

It was still hard for him to process that such a reality was possible for him, or for anyone else: it was as if no problems existed there, as if it was allowed for him to wastefully live every moment of his life without the smallest hint of pain or trouble. He was lost at first, sure, but he quickly realized how the City could satisfy all his innate, secret, genuine desires, even those that were hidden under the false presumption of pessimism, the excuse of redemption, the justification of searching for a better world. And from that point onwards he let it go: he stopped caring about how bad the repression of the regime was, and he would have so long he was allowed to live like that.

The lyrics kept singing: ~ ... _Try not to lose yourself Out There_... ~

She h **-** "!£=SDHSAJK-

**WARNING: OVERWRITTEN DATA.

 _And so our young adventurer continued to live peacefully under the regime. He would eventually marry and have two beautiful children, leaving them at the age of thirteen-six after an unfortunate accident in the battlefield._

 _That shall be the ending of our little story._

 _Fin._

**ERROR: /PARAGRAPHS NOT FOUND: INVALID CHECKSUM. ONLY GARBAGE DATA AFTER PARAGRAPH 6/5./

 **[END OF DOCUMENT 7203/A]**

* * *

"Yeah, sure, just like you say."

A few hits on a keyboard, the darkness of a small room. In the middle of the monitor, the loading screen of a decryption program.

 _Please select decryption method._

"Cut the crap, will you? I can bear it if you guys want to cut a few parts here and there, but you can't delete the whole story!" A tap of the Enter key.

 _Applying two-layers decryption..._

Waiting. Then, a popup on the screen.

 _Decryption complete of_ _Chapters 6_ _onward! (Warning: some parts may still be unreadable.)_

"Okay, there we go. Much better!"

 _Now opening_ _Document 7203/A (Copy)_...

"Where were we? Oh, right, around here..."

* * *

 **[DOCUMENT 7203/A (Copy)]**

She had to try again, as painful as it was: it was her only viable option for escape. After all, she had already managed to enter the boy's mind, even if it had happened only once. Maybe she could do it again, just for enough time to tell his subconscious who put her in a cage, and where to find her; she needed no more than one minute in total to do that. But, she had been trying every single day to her point of exhaustion, and she hadn't made much progress. The only time she had succeeded was getting further and further months away, when he had disastrous health conditions, and was on the verge of death. His stability had improved drastically since, far more than she had expected: she was losing him, as his mind was becoming as impenetrable for the weak crumbs of psychic abilities she had left, as any other.

The human who imprisoned her, he was not stupid just as much as he was revolting: no doubt he had planned when and how to catch her beforehand, and procured himself what he needed to capture her. He had surely taken several notes, maybe even photos about the woods around the City. Still, she thought it was strange a commoner like him could have obtained such a rare item: she thought only the top brass of the Army had those white and red devices with which a monster's energy could be suppressed.

Over thinking it would have served no purpose, regardless. She closed her eyes instead, and focused, breathing in and out as fully as she was able to.

 _The practice of entering one's consciousness is, in some ways, similar to that of pushing a barrier, a sphere which is constantly closing around you from all directions as the target's mind opposes your invasion inside his subconscious. If you put enough pressure with your mind, the walls will expand and reveal a world inside which you can build or destroy what you wish in order to influence your target's impulsive decisions. But whenever your strength does not suffice anymore, the walls will encircle you back, and you would feel as if you were being relentlessly crushed by an immense force and simultaneously drowned, which is both mentally painful and physically dangerous for the user._

She began casting.

At first void, black; not much else. She pushed more.

Still dark. Her head was slightly hurting, already. More, she needed to put more force.

Nothing yet. She was starting to gasp for air, but she didn't want to give up yet.

Empty, empty. She began shivering.

 _Come on, please?_ she begged.

Still nothing. His subconscious was putting up a resistance bigger than her: her whole body was wildly shaking, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes focused.

A mass of water up her throat: she was drowning. She knew she was going to pass out in seconds: it was no use, she was not winning.

More water, more weight, less air. heavier, thinner; more, less; more, and...

 _...Wait!_

A realization. Indeed, something was different that time: that water felt wet, it felt like real water she could drink with the simple stretch of her mouth, like she was inside a real sea and she was feeling not rushes of nausea, but concrete waves hitting her. It was not just her, it was a dream, it was the boy's dream!

She was inside it, she had made it! Truly, that night the boy must have been as drunk as a thousand skunks put together!

She quickly mustered all of her renewed strength, resoluted to leave some mark on the boy's mind, but soon realized the gate was already closing: she had no time for any of her previous plans - as she had done last time, candles and clouds and soft lights and all that other stuff - she had to say something, and fast! She tried to think of something essential, something the boy might recall some time, something he would remember...!

She whispered a single, short, minuscule word. Thereafter the soaring waves rained down, rushing and crashing at her fragile being. Like that, she passed out.

* * *

"Man, yesterday was awesome!" said the guy.

"Oh my God, yes! You remember that blonde chick we met?" replied the boy.

Two young people were walking along the main road of the City, enjoying a quiet and fresh afternoon. The boy's friend was not one you'd call 'handsome': he was chubby, and certainly not light on the weight - 'Genetics,' he had said; he also reeked, quite - "Delicate colon" had been the reason for that one. When they had first talked to each other the boy had wondered if and what excuse he would have come up with for his messily choice of clothes, which to define 'wrong' was a compliment. And surely enough, he had replied: "You won't believe me, but I'm secretly wearing a world famous stylist's new entries: no one else knows about it!", after which point he had begun to rant about a series of other petty observation about his persona (which were not uncommon in the least), bringing to the surface all his previously harbored bitterness towards others opinions.

All of his statements, if it was not already clear to the reader, would be formulated without fault in the most convoluted and unbelievable ways: "A secret plan of the government I'm only aware of" or "Researches on alien technology" were big cards he always had in his hands. The boy began asking himself if he was aware of his own self-mockery. Maybe he was doing it on purpose? Maybe he wanted to convey what was an obvious lie as an undeniably clear, limpid, crystalline, blatant fabrication no one would hesitate to call as such? Maybe he just didn't like people, and did everything to scare them away from him.

But even as the spoiled liar as he was, factor which sometimes would add to be dumb, other times somewhat enjoyable, the boy thought he was a rather nice guy, overall. They had known each other since the first day the boy had come to the military academy, and quickly became friends.

"Ahaha! She was so drunk she tore off that other girl's high-heels and slapped her just because she wanted to put them on!"

"Ahahahah! But you were also pretty drunk by the end of the night, right?"

"Sure, but I didn't start dancing around and moving my hips so much I fell to the ground! The wrong side, of all the ones, ahaha!"

"Right, right, she tumbled down what were, like, two hundred-fucking stairs or something, pfhahahah!"

 _Remember kids, alcohol and stairs are not a good mix._

"Oh God, she started crying like a baby."

The boy paused for a second. His grin gently faded into a smile, as if he was cultivating a somewhat nicer thought. "She was cute like that, you know?"

"Heh, I don't know. I have seen better."

"Who?"

The guy looked downwards, slightly.

"Hey, is it someone you haven't presented to me? You want her just for yourself? Not fair man, come on!" curiously asked the boy.

"No, it's... just... it's a bit of a thing, a..." A pause. " _..._ _ **silly**_ … kind of thing of mine. Nothing of relevance, really," replied the guy.

A chill freezed the boy's spinal column; adrenaline rushed through immediately after, burning his muscles with excessive heat - was it the environment? Maybe it was just a cold breeze –. It had been very brief and had already disappeared by the time he thought about it, but he couldn't wrap his head around it: nothing had happened around him. His friend didn't sense his mood change, and went on talking.

"It's a bit of a personal secret, you know? I might tell you, one day," concluded the boy's friend.

That 'bit of a personal secret' was not at all like the other lies, the boy was sure of it, and since his very talkative friend didn't want to talk about it, it was all the more questionable and shady. He felt an irresistible urge to know – why, though? Knowing the subject at hand, it was likely something minor or just downright idiotic; yet, he still did! – and without even questioning further why he had to know, he began devising ways to meddle into the matter.

"So, anyway, why don't we go to your home? It's getting kind of chilly out here," said the boy.

"Well...uhh..." The guy hesitated for a moment.

The boy smirked: _So, my hunch is correct, huh? You secret is in your home!_ thought the boy.

"...I-I mean, it's a bit messy inside. It's not my fault, it's the… the housemaid, you know? Yes, the housemaid. She resigned last week, and... haha... hahahah!" Indeed, the guy was the kind of character that would nervously laugh in a tense situation.

 _Still, this is his most believable lie up to this point: props to him,_ conceded the boy.

"...A-anyway, why don't we go in a cafe or something i-instead?" said the guy.

"Oh, but we just came out of one, didn't we? Don't worry, I'm not so picky I'm going to judge you if your place is dirty or stuff like that. Hey, tell you what: If it's such a problem for you, you make a coffee for two and then I'll help you clean up!" said the boy as he returned a warm, understanding, tender smile. The fakest he could manage.

"Uhh... it's... okay, I suppose..." finally replied the guy, still looking somewhat troubled.

It had worked! Deep inside, the boy merrily enjoyed the victory and the distress of his victim, just like a little kid does when winning an innocent game against his pal.

"Great! After you!"

* * *

A squared living room, a minimal restroom, a bedroom whose only luxury was a very expensive desktop computer, a kitchen full of ready-made products and a weirdly big supply of butter, finally a stretched corridor conjoining all of these were the full extent of the apartment. Plus a locked door, the purpose of which was to 'act as an attic without the roof', as his friend put it.

That was certainly suspicious: the boy would have tried to get the key and see what was behind it.

The two of them were sitting and chatting by a small table of plastic, ***REMOVED*** _one of those very cheap ones you could buy at IKE..._ ***REMOVED***

"So, do you live here all by yourself?" asked the boy.

"Yeah," was the short reply.

"What about your parents? Do they come to visit every once in a while?"

"No, they really don't. I've never known my mother before she died, and my father sends allowance once a month, thinking he has properly taken care of his son that way, then he goes to do whatever is his business. Other relatives, he has never told me of."

"Oh man, that's a bit sad. I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's water under the bridge. The only important thing is that he's rich, so I can get some extra stuff for myself every once in a while. Even with the paycheck I get from the Army it's costly to have fun out here, you know?"

"My wallet is emptier than yours, I assure you."

"Heh, pretty much like everyone around here. To think some people believe I'm well-heeled for real: they envy me, can you imagine that?"

"Well, you don't look like one of those know-it-all braggers," replied the boy, as he thought: _Actually, you do._

"Sometimes I wish I were. Those guys ruin the fun for everyone else, you know what I mean? All the best clothes, the best cars; they get all the most gorgeous women and all. The bunch of assholes, I would like to teach them a lesson!" Fire of Justice was burning in the friend's eyes as if it was a matter of top priority for the entire humanity.

"Oh God, I got worked up. Sorry," said back the friend.

"No, it's fine, I mean, I kind of feel you," said the boy. _Oh sure, I am certainly feeling for the guy who is in a better economic position than everyone else and who is probably spending his free time eating butter, but can't afford all of the bitches of this world because he doesn't care to put some effort into anything. Poor guy._

"Do you?"

"Yeah, really. Don't let it get to you: you're better than that."

"Thanks, it really means to me." A pause. "You know, you are a nice person," complimented the friend.

The boy smiled back, for more than his appreciative answer: eight, nine, ten emptied beers were on the table at that point, none of which the boy had touched. His friend was starting to lag behind the conversation, which meant it was about time for him to act.

"Well, let's get started, shall we? This place won't clean up by itself," he bluntly said out of nowhere.

"Hey man, don't worry. It's fine, really, I'll hire someone to do clean soon enough anyway. We don't have to. We... don't... have to." answered the friend, more because if the boy wasn't still there he would have instantly fallen asleep on the sofa, rather than because he was actually going to hire someone.

"No problem, no problem, I told you! At the very least your bedroom should be tidy, right? I'll go pick up the things we need, you stay here." The boy stood up and got the pair of keys hanging on the entrance's door.

"It's this room, right?" asked the boy, pointing at the locked door.

"Oh, yeah, yeah..." the guy absent-mindedly replied.

But immediately afterwards, the friend gasped: "No wait, it's not-!"

The guy's voice choked as he heard the door unlock. He rushed up and through the narrow corridor in panic, but his friend was already descending the spiral staircase leading to the second, and last door that was protecting his secret. The boy was laughing with a playful heart, certain to tease his pal by spoiling his little secret: he would have cracked up seeing his fellow's rattled expression, and would have finally satisfied the childish curiosity he had been harboring for the previous hours. Indeed, he did not notice the tone of alarm and horror in his friend's yelling, who was praying him to stop before it was too late, before everything was ruined as he was hearing the dreadful, haunting _kling-kling_ of the keys the boy was bringing with him.

The boy did not listen. As he found the other locked door at the bottom, he began to try to open the keyhole, one key after another.

" ~ This one wrong, this one is also wrong… ~ " He was loudly chanting, changing the tone of his voice at every 'wrong' to sadistically taunt his friend.

" ~ Wrong, wrong… ~ " Bewildered loud footsteps were raining down, the alloy staircase shaking as if an earthquake was striking.

" ~ Wrong, still wrong… ~ " The guy was almost there, he had almost caught the boy.

But alas, a click! The door opened with a creaking sound…

"NO!" screamed the guy.

… And the boy saw.

 _That delicate mirror which reflected a castle of illusions, once a magnificent vision for the boy's future, cracked and shattered as its image crumbled to dust. The fantasy of a quiet existence was twisted, not unlike a piece of delicate garment which had been brutally ripped. The battlefield came back full force, cannons firing and shots whistling in his ears: War Was Waging back in his mind, and this time it would be for ever, before the creature's shimmering, pleading red eyes._


	8. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter VII**

Metal scraps, cracked pipes leaking water on the damp floor, crates messily stacked upon one another and overflowing with wires and broken electronic devices; there laid a humanoid creature, in the penumbra of the basement.

"What the hell…"

The minimal difference of temperature and brightness that the newly opened door was allowing to flow made the animal tremble, the chain she was tied with rattling along with her body. Her sinuous figure was cut off by that constriction as a segment does after a curve, whilst her long, thin, silvery dress was no more the perfect highlight of her body, but a wrinkled blanket that could not even suffice for heat conservation. She was cradling into herself, covering her torso with both her flimsy arms and slender legs, as if to diminish her presence.

"So, I know this is not totally legal, but…" awkwardly began the friend.

The young man was not even looking at the degraded show in front of him because he was fixated solely on the void inside her eyes, his own magnetized like opposite poles. He was trying his hardest to spill a phrase, a word, a single syllable that could express the horror he was witnessing, oblivious to the excuses of his friend.

"...I mean, I'm not doing anything wrong, right…?"

God only knew how long he had kept her there: her messy hair, her fatigued stance, her unwillingness to fight back were all consequences of surviving without a bed, without any commodities, with little food and little water, unable to move from that spot and see the sunlight.

"...It's not like she's h-human or something..."

Not only, not enough. There were clear signs of abuse: on her left hand, on her shoulder, on her leg, shot by a bullet – sleep-inducing, maybe? Physical violence, for sure. Sexual as well, most likely, from the curled-up stance she was retreating into.

"...I-if you are worried we are in trouble, d-don't! The law doesn't say anything about mistreating a m-monster! Eheh, eheh..."

He couldn't believe how anyone could be so nonchalantly cruel about making such a mess out of a poor pure creature. A damsel, she was; a beautiful girl left to be rotten. He couldn't stand the nauseating sight anymore. What was he to do, then? Leave her be? No, he could never. Contact the Federation? No, that would have the worst idea…

"...I-it's only illegal to detain them. But y-you won't say to the Federation that I am anyway, as..."

Her twinkly eyes were filled up with water, as if she was going to break any moment: those, oh God those two little hearts, they were looking so intensely, so passionately, so deeply at him! She looked so lost, so lonely, so fragile…

A scalding tepid tear of pity slid down the boy's cheek.

… Free her?

It was a ridiculous, insane thought. She might have been dangerous, she might have broke out like a wild beast and killed both of them. But-

Abruptly, as soon as his abuser had turned his head to her, she broke contact and hid her face behind her body.

"The fuck you are looking at? This is all your fucking fault, you slut!" He screamed with the insane rage of a bear, followed by the spit of his moist, sticky, thick saliva at her.

She was not just searching for freedom, the shaky creature. She was furtively trying to look at the boy once more, asking with her sweet cherry eyes for his help, and his help only: she was hoping, she was depending on him. Because he might have seen her as a treat, but she had never caused any suffering to anyone. Because she was an enemy, but she was being mistreated far beyond any justification. Because as she was seeing that pandemonium of his morality, she knew she could trust him, a human, to do the right thing; and if he did, she could have restored her faith in humanity.

"...Because we're f-friends, right? Hehe, he..."

His "pal" instead, he had gone insane since a long time; the boy was guilty of realizing that truth only when confronted with the hideous face he was truly possessing, behind the mask of "good guy". He had to make up for it, for the fact that he had been a fool to believe that such a monstrous society could give him happiness, to forsake his ideals for spare delights, to act as an hypocrite, first and foremost to himself.

"...Y-you aren't giving a shit about her, are you...?"

There was still time: with a simple gesture, he could free her, he could shoulder on himself the sins of his friend, of that city, of the whole world! It could have been it, a new mutual comprehension, a friendship he would finally forge back, between two worlds separated for too long.

"...H-hey, you know...! you can also have her!" The guy brightened, not similarly to a light bulb, rather precisely as the light bulb he was, convinced of having the geniusest of ideas in his mind.

"Yeah, that's right! Friends are to share, no? So, just, go ahead and do whatever you wish to her!..."

The feminine creature glanced for a brief instant to the boy's right, making sure to have his sight follow an almost imperceptible movement - no one but him could have noticed that, as it was her sign to him, to him only: they had become accomplices already, there was something between them already - pointing at the spherical device sticking out from the guy's backpack. He saw it, and immediately knew what she was requiring him to do.

"...J-just don't go around telling anyone, yeah! It'll be our secret! What do you say, eh?"

Who was the true monster, after all? Her? On which basis? Just because she was 'one of them'? What else, what other reason were there? What did she do, what did she do to deserve all of that!?

No, it was someone else, the true Evil. There was no more need to do reason around it, the decision to take was clear in the boy's mind.

"Nick, I'm sorry about this."

He took out his only weapon at disposal, his knife. He threw it at the other person before he could react in the slightest, aiming for his bag and successfully hitting what he'd later call a "pokéball". It cracked on hit with an electric fuse, and broke altogether, turning off for ever.

He had done it! He had freed the enslaved creature...!

 _Yet_ …

… As Nick realized what the boy had done, he turned to look at him with a bleached, deathlike frown, as if white paint had been poured on him; of hollowed eyes, of true terror.

"What have you done?..." he expired.

Infernally buried in his soul for the rest of his existence, it was the last image the boy would glimpse of his friend before being impaled by several crystals of an ablaze light, peaking through his abdomen, his legs, his neck, his shoulder his eyes his breast, everywhere! Staked as a beaten up voodoo doll his brain, pierced by the biggest of those, was slowly gushing out from the orifice that had been created. The deadly image took a moment to be executed, a single one, but it condensed an immense hatred, and a will to create as much agony in the victim as possible.

The room became cold, much colder. The boy was trembling uncontrollably as he slowly turned to see the monster he had so naively freed. His heart was pumping faster, a metallic taste in his mouth. He was scared, truly so.

It was standing up, floating a few centimeters from the ground, bursting with an aura of fearsome power, motionless. It was not looking at the boy: it didn't need him, not anymore. All a deception, all a mask, the insensitive psychic-type creature knew very well how to toy with emotions, how to convey empathy with her body, with her angelic looks: undoubtedly an angel, an angel of death which, at that moment, was just looking to kill.

What had the boy done indeed.

She lifted a heavy metal bar with her powers and sent it flying with a snap of her hands. An enormous force smashed the boy's stomach before he could even see it coming, and he quickly lost consciousness.

* * *

The sound of dripping water from the ceiling was slow, but regular. The boy tried to focus as much of his will to hear that sound. It became clearer after a while, and soon he managed to regain his senses.

What time was it? Where?

It didn't take long for him to recognize he was still in the basement of his friend's house, where a locked monster had been freed by his credulous determination. He was laying supine on the ground, and as he tried to move he felt an aching strain on his lower torso. He had got hit hard; he wasn't dead, though, and as much as it was painful to breathe in and out his body was fully intact. It took him a good five minutes to get standing, his legs shakily carrying him.

The hit would have probably ended his life, was it not for the previous experience of having his innards twisted, which instinctively made his body stiffen and cover around that area, instead of trying to protect his head. Had the beast attacked there, the most logical choice, he would have had no way of surviving the impact. Why did it choose that spot, then? Was the creature that cunning it expected the boy to react by lowering himself, making him get his skull cracked anyway?

But why? Wasn't it easier to tear him apart, just like it did with his... He shuddered at the thought, and forced himself not to look at his right, where laid his comrade's holed corpse.

The answer was, truthfully, simple: the creature was obviously exhausted already, and it consequently planned to kill both people as quickly as possible with its feeble remaining powers before passing out - first its rapist, then the other human. But it was left almost dry after the first move: it must have panicked, and resorted to an indirect attack to finish the boy - which didn't work, unfortunately for it - before fainting.

Indeed, there it was, flat on the ground, the chain on its neck forcefully open.

That was it, that explained everything. There was nothing more to say or to add, not a justification, not an excuse, an apology, a regret, a 'thank you'. It tricked him for its survival and no other reason, it was as evident as evidence could be. And from that point onwards it was as if they had never met each other: It would have killed him, if it could, and he had to consider it an enemy. And if that was true, it also meant the young man needed to murder that beast as soon as possible – that moment was an otherwise impossible chance to do so.

The boy slowly dragged himself to Nick's remains. The sight was hard to bear, a carcass butchered like Swiss cheese deflating his bodily juices out, and already reeking of death.

He slumped to it and cried harsh blood. It was his fault, of course; he was the one who sentenced him to his fate. He didn't even listen to what he had to say in his defence, he didn't try to: so stubborn he was in his little idyllic, ignorant view of things that he ignored everything for his ego. He was a mess, he was screwing up every time, and for what? Because of some stupid bullshit about living together with these horrors of nature.

The knife was still stuck in the friend's bag. He snatched it. Then, he laboriously heaved himself up, sweat spilling from his body, and began to slowly walk towards the defenceless beast, wheezing and panting in fever and anger.

After all, it was the hypocrite. After all, it was the one who killed his buddy. After all, it was the one who laughed at his worthy ideals. And after all it was the demon who shattered his dreams of a blissful existence, forgetful of the blood, the war, the chaos it had brought back once and for ever into his life!

He was approaching the quiescent, sleeping creature, knife in hand.

Wasn't it for that monster he would have lived a happy, content life without any trouble, without any regret. Instead he was doomed already, instead the Federation would have probably found him and executed him for what he had done!

He was blindly looking in rage at its silhouette. The simple act of breathing hurt, enraging him even more.

At least he would bring it down with him. He could have... he could have faked the scene, and told everyone how he heroically managed to injure it, avenging his comrade who sacrificed his life to shield him, after... after the monster had broken free by itself! Yes, he could have said that, no doubt he could!

He arrived very close to its body. He could feel her soft breath, which fabricated its innocence. She was without a doubt gracious, and remembering those eyes of hers... Those eyes, they were so unbelievably beautiful, so ethereal they could never... no, it was a trap, it was all a fake!

Still, he wouldn't... kill it. He would maim it to... submission, after which he would call the Federation. Yes, that was a great idea! _They_ would execute it, not him! He would have... he would have enjoyed that one, he would have enjoyed every... every other time the guillotine was going to... to chop another one of those fuckers…

He lifted the weapon, ready to strike; his whole arm was trembling.

Even... even that drake. Yes, even that... was-

A shock. Images, as he relived the fear, the anguish, the dread of the demented deranged crowd screaming and howling and laughing in Hell, tormented souls spiraling in a tornado of hot wild flames - it terrorized him. He didn't want to become that: It was devilish, it was Evil. What was he doing?! He was losing control of himself, he was being possessed by some seductive, bestial force!

He gulped. A different kind of sweat was starting to run down his temples.

E… ev-even... th-that dra-drake...

* * *

A metallic sound ran through the room. The dagger was dropped off the ground, as the boy started crying uncontrollably, not in compassion, not in fury, but in the purest of childish closure. He couldn't do it, he just couldn't. He just wanted that nightmare to be over because he hated it, because he couldn't stand it anymore and he didn't want it anymore. He wanted to be kind-hearted, and he was brought to madness instead. He felt scared, he felt lonely, because he was a kid in a world of adults, of things bigger than him.

 _He could not kill her, he couldn't even do that. He couldn't do it, he just couldn't._


	9. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter VIII**

The city was drunk of music and neon lights, that Saturday. It was a nest of elusive joys and momentary thrills, pumping its techno beats to its avenues and roads as a heart does through its veins; it was surging electric life to its citizens and their glittering clothes, to the brightly illuminated dance floors and ceilings, to the expensive plays of fountains and fireworks, to the giant digital screens changing their colors to the rhythm, and to the discotheques' shimmering beacons, their reach extended far beyond the skies and the horizon.

As seen from the outside and on the whole, the city was like a burning Sun, shining of its own light; and just like the brightest stars in the universe, it seemed destined to burn out of fuel and die, sooner or later.

Among the others, the city was casting its golden glow onto its polar opposite: not too far off north, a building surrounded by woods; it was as high as a mountain, and as terrible as the deepest of chasms. Only a tiny amount of all those flashy lights seemed able to reach its location, leaving the towering structure in an engulfing penumbra that would scare the fearful viewer and leave him wondering about the size of its shape, for its real size was more alike the shadow that creates a monster out of an innocuous object or creature, than the object or creature itself. Such would be a peculiar way to describe any cathedral, but an especially ill-fated omen were it to be said, as that was the case, about none others than the Cathedral of the Federation, the largest and highest between all the churches ever conceived by man, main headquarters of the Federation and home to the Truly, the One, the Only Heavenly Savior Himself.

Any attempt at counting, describing, or otherwise depicting the colossal structure and its Gothic pinnacles, its arches spanning dozens of meters in length, its enormous facade made of the most refined white marble and filled to the brim with golden statues attired with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, topazes and all other kinds of precious gems, its complex geometrical plays and wavy decorations of ivory and delicate glass, and its ample spherical domes, all of them stacked on top of each other again and again and again spiraling to the top to create miracles of Architecture and a wizardry of Physics laws, would seem at the same time redundant for the reader and lacking for anyone who had seen the actual thing. And even if one could manage to fill in all the details of such a superb edifice, he would be still missing all the weaponry that made it the impenetrable fortress it was. Several layers of defensive mechanisms would protect the place, disfiguring its innate beauty. From the hundreds of meters around the building filled with mines in the most unexpected patches of grass and under the sight of snipers and automatic turrets all over the edges of the spiraling structure, to the barracks of elite soldiers patrolling both inside and outside, to the lake of sulfuric acid surrounding the base, to the electrified rooms, the burning ones, the flooding ones, the ones void of air and so on, all activated by cameras and sensors that would sense and identify whoever was, wherever he was, not a single soul could have snuck by. All while for a human, the simple thought of reaching the top would take hours of stairs, stairs, stairs, stairs, of an amount sufficient to drive anyone insane.

On its highest zenith, far away from earthly looks, taking form of a spear piercing the skies and encircled by anti air turrets and helicopters guarding the place at every time of every day, without stairs or any other passageways to ascend to its last pinnacle, it is said the Heavenly Savior Himself resided, giving all of the orders to its generals and all the speeches to its people.

If one could have barely managed, be it for a single instant, to get a glimpse of the inside of that pinnacle, on that night he would have seen a big, wide grin, the only one that might have ever come out of His whole life.

It was perfect. That was His only thought at that moment - such a triumph of His mind was the plan He had just devised for the future of His Federation! From such a negligible event as the death of a person, He could have gained so much power! It was the perfect chance he had been waiting for so long.

They had reported His son had been found dead the previous hour, his brain holed by a much stronger force than bullets: no doubt the work of a pokémon. There were also fingerprints of another person, though, and among all the people they could have belonged to, they were those of a boy, the one who had been rescued from outside. Nobody knew anything about him, and several voices and rumors were already spreading: some said he was a poor soul who had escaped from the rebels, but most talked about a spy conspiring against the Federation, and a few dared to say he might have been someone mind-controlled by a pokémon to execute its orders - it was a neat idea, that one, but a risky one, for it could have easily been used as a defense for his actions. No. It had to be the boy's fault and his fault only for the death of an innocent person to the hands of those wicked, evil fiends. In reality, He had no idea if that boy was implied whatsoever with the incident, but that didn't really matter: he'd just be a goat for the cause, His superior cause, against which a small sacrifice as that boy's reputation was less worthy than a few bread crumbs on the table of a starving family.

At the end of that night, it would have been Sunday, sermon day. It really was perfect. He just had to write the adequate speech, which was already happening by itself as words were pouring out of His mind: hard-hitting, pompous, powerful. He had just begun to scribble a draft, and He was liking it already.

 _The grief and the anger of a father losing his son, one or two tears shed. (A low tone of voice as of a funeral… ) As a shock, the horrifying sight for the crowd of my son's body to underline how cruel and savage pokémon really are… The shock and the dismay of people, at which point a small praise of all of them for their hard work, reassuring them for the horrible sight, making myself look humble in their eyes, and underlining that I care about them…_

"…the only reason I'm not giving up after this loss is thanks to all of your renewed efforts…!"

 _Reaffirming that pokémon are Evil (this time with a more determined emphasis), and to top it off demonstrate that they are cowards: they have killed an innocent to attack Me, to attack God himself…! (Here I must raise my voice as I go along…) Stress how there can't be dialogue with them, no matter what… Then, add the element of surprise: there was also a rebel, an enemy who sided with those fiends…!_

"His betrayal of humanity killed My son, and those traitors will sooner or later kill all that's left of the Human race…!"

 _Then inject fear into the masses by going back to the horrible event:_

"…even if he fought courageously, My son was killed without effort by those brutal beasts…!"

 _Claim that these creatures want us to fear them, that they want humanity to believe it's weak and vulnerable! Then, back to the boy, and all of a sudden I shall point at him among the soldiers with a fell swoop of my hand (at this point I need be shouting in anger...) , revealing that the traitor I had been talking about all this time has lived between our ranks, for the shock of the crowd - the terror in their eyes will allow me an even bigger climate of terror! -, and for the public humiliation of the boy himself; Death Sentence for him and all his allies…! And then, the main point: a Declaration of War against all outsiders, all rebels, without exceptions! It must be particularly clear that I intend They must all die!_

"They all side with Evil, all of them! They are as good as the monsters they side up with, who are their masters and controllers! Don't let their human appearances deceive you, they are just as monstrous…! "

 _Finally, the wake-up call, the mobilization of the masses._

"…Because hope is not lost, because we can still fight, and so we must fight, right here and right now we must slay all monsters, and all rebels with them! We've had enough patience, we've been kind enough to them, but it's clear they've lost their humanity, they've lost their God…!"

… _and The Grand Finale of the Total and Absolute War and Dominion of the Entire World!_

"…for our future, for our children, we will Work, Wage War, Win the Total and Absolute War and Dominion of the Entire World!"

 _Afterwards, the soldiers lining up their weapons, the audience madly cheering; the biggest of festivities as the community is once more reunited and prepares for War, the Federation growing and growing and growing stronger as the ground trembles at their march…!_

Yes, that would have been such a mesmerizing speech; just repeating it in His mind _almost_ convinced Himself of the truth not contained behind those words. It was time to begin a War for real, and all that was not the Federation – be them pokémon, humans, or any other living thing – would have finally been under His complete control, or slaughtered without mercy.

The next day would have been the beginning of His absolute reign, once and forever. Satisfied of his work, He looked once again at the photos of His dead son; that was why there was a big, wide grin on His face.

* * *

What the boy was going to do next, he had no idea. He was terribly beaten, both physically and mentally, but he tried to push away with all his might the deep angst and the void growing inside his stomach, keeping only the simple, logical reasoning around what was his situation, and what he could do next to save himself.

He was somewhat confident he had managed to carry the unconscious creature to the surgeon's home without anyone noticing: even if the city was bursting with life that night, finding unlit alleyways to sneak by had not been that hard. He knew the owner of his temporary accommodation was out there having fun as well, and the boy hoped the surgeon could really, really have a great time that night, enough that he wouldn't have come back any time soon. About his fingerprints all over his friend's house, he didn't care as long as they were not found on any suspicious objects such as his friend's clothes or pokéball – which he cared to clean as well as his trembling hands could - because their friendship was known to some extent and finding an alibi as to why he had been there a few hours _before_ the incident was not an impossible task. After all, it was clear a pokémon caused his friend's death while he himself had no clear part in it, and should fear no repercussions as a consequence.

Although, what about the creature herself? The boy had very clashing feelings about her: while he believed she did deserve freedom, he could not forgive her for her actions, even if they had been in self-defense. The boy had to admit, though, that she was such a fascinating creature, and that thought opened his imagination to an even wider and wilder world of mysterious forces and wonders, as dangerous as inspiring: she was, without a doubt, deadly, but her feminine pose as she slept betrayed a veiled softness of hers. There were both grace and blood in her, and she was just as beautiful as she was fearsome.

In the end the boy couldn't reconcile his morals with his attraction, and would keep to waver between the two; even so, he felt that there was some hidden, unknown part of himself which was slowly budding inside his brain, a part of him that wished powers like hers, that enjoyed the thought of that superhuman strength and wanted it as his own, a part that was enticed by her mixture of darkness and light, and that liked her as a whole.

It took him a single second to reject the idea afterwards. He convinced himself it must have been another trick of that witch he was protecting; he damned his weak mind and his weak morals, and the goosebumps and nausea he felt hitting his stomach strengthened that idea – even his body was rejecting it, after all.

Regardless, he was still too worried about what was to come to care about such things: what if the Federation found her? And at his residence, of all places?

He was scared to pick her up again and bring her out of Federation territory into the forest – what if she woke up? - and it was nonetheless impossible for someone as weakened as he was; his spinning headache quickly bothered him to stop from catching his breath to moving to the kitchen to find some food, some water, and a painkiller or two. His body was still shivering as he took a glass of the liquid and began to sip on it; corrosive acid burned down his throat, rather than common water. He wouldn't even dare to try anything more solid than that, but he did bring an apple and a bunch of grapes back to his bedroom – maybe if he offered them to her she wouldn't have killed him off as immediately as she would have awakened – and, just as he closed the door to the bedroom, a rushing wave of pain struck his head, and he blacked out flat on the floor from exhaustion.

The following morning, the creature was already gone. The boy searched all home for her, but couldn't find any trace left of her presence. He then noticed the food had also disappeared, and while his clouded memory of the previous night forgot several details about the unfolding of the events, he was quite sure he had never eaten it.

Nonetheless, his search was cut short by the slow and loud ringing of the church bells from the cathedral: it was Sunday morning, and as the sun was rising high to shine on the Cathedral, it was time for the Heavenly Savior's sermon.


	10. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter IX**

Suddenly, He struck His lightning of Truth down the spiraling Cathedral! His index finger, seen by the audience through the tall screen which was casting the Heavenly Savior's figure itself, was more massive than a giant's, and it was crushing downwards and pointing at, of all the soldiers and the commoners who were lined up in hundreds of tidy columns to hear the Heavenly Savior Sunday's Speech, a lone boy: the one who was before hidden within the masses and was part of them got separated, isolated from them all.

The crowd was shocked and terrified at the news and the soldiers were enraged, for a traitor had sneaked among their ranks! A well-looking, civilized, young man he seemed: how could it be? It was unbelievable, it was unthinkable that such an innocent looking boy could commit such a monstrous act!

But alas, he was not well bred, He reassured the population. The boy was an outsider to the City, rescued only for kindness - it was such an honorable quality of its industrious citizens, that one, but one which had brought only suffering to them. The boy had been found on the verge of death, which made his sin even more Evil in His eyes, for he had betrayed not the City only, but himself and the whole humanity with him!

They knew it! The masses knew it couldn't have been any different, as their mind and their voices screamed at the revelation that was brought upon them that day! Only an outsider, only he would do such a thing, those sickening bastards, those perverted who sided with those monsters! There was no excuse, there would have been no forgiveness that time! And as the boy ached in fear and trembled for his fate, a few words slowly grew more and more above the chaos of yells at the top of their lungs and reddened, inflamed faces who had lost any control over their stretched, beastly expressions:

 _ **Work! Wage War! Win! Work! Wage War! Win!**_

The Heavenly Savior stood there, silent, for there clearly was no need to say more.

* * *

What was left to do for the boy? He was shaking wildly as only hatred, hatred and more hatred was surrounding him: the already vast square became immeasurable as hundreds, thousands, millions, all the people of the world were looking down at his small figure. In a matter of seconds, from the nobody he was he became the object of all the pent up anger of the human race.

 _Everyone is so angry, everyone is so loud...!_

Tears were moving down his cheeks along with so much sweat only the full amount of adrenaline in his body could produce, released all at once and rushing through his nerves. His eyes couldn't look away from the crowd or the finger of the giant pointing at him, they were stuck looking at the terrible yet massive event that was brought upon them, and they wouldn't even attempt to move. His heart was hurting like a hammer against his rib cage, his throat was sore as a desert is dry and, most of all, his stomach was burning from his self-made acids, twisting in the most nauseating manners and eating him alive from the inside.

 _It hurts so much... Please..._

Alone, he was completely alone. He couldn't hear his own voice through the screaming and the mad anger. No one would listen to his plea, not a single human on Earth would defend his cause, not even try to! Indeed, it was useless to search for help. And the more people were screaming at him, the more the boy was convincing himself they were, in fact, right. It was clear then, he realized they were absolutely correct: he was a murderer, he was an enemy of humanity, he had betrayed the Heavenly Savior Himself! And for that, he was going to be sentenced to the stocks and executed, as he deserved. After all, everyone was said so: they had to be right, didn't they?

 _Just like that dragon... Am I going to...?_

Still, he didn't want to die. He was sorry, he was so sorry for what he had done. He thought it was the right thing to do, he thought he could really change things for a better future, he didn't think he would have caused the death of his friend, he didn't want it to go like this, he…-

… He was just making up excuses, wasn't he? Yes, yet again he was justifying himself, even when the whole world knew of his crimes. His cowardice sparked an intense resentment of himself, a moody ego talking to his stupid, depraved self through the voice of an hard, unforgivable judge.

 _...Yes, I deserve to die!_

He deserved to go to the guillotine, without a shred of doubt! Just like the dragon, and just like she deserved that other creature who mercilessly murdered his friend. Why didn't he kill her in the first place? Why did he let her live, what got in his foolish head that stopped him from putting a remedy to his wrongdoings? How could he get mesmerized by her pretty looks and let her go after he had witnessed her merciless brutality slay a human before his own eyes? A savage harpy, a bloody siren she was, nothing else! And because he didn't kill her back then he wasn't even worthy of breathing air anymore, to waste such a precious resource that others could have used to better purposes. Actually, he didn't even deserve to die, he deserved to suffer for years, every single day of his life, for eternity, like the abominable sinner he was! Of course no one would defend him, because it would be a crime to do so, and he wasn't certainly worth the effort! After all, he was just an idiot who knew nothing of the world, nothing of those creatures, nothing about anything at all! And he had made a mess of everything that could be messed up, ever!

With that last statement, he had said everything there had to be said. He could have ended his trail of shame there, and keep silent and thoughtless for what was left of his short life.

 _Still…_

But he couldn't help but add another word, then another one, another one and so they began stacking upon one another; soon enough pity and fear overcame the anger within his chaotic being. Why did he get so furious and hateful of himself in the first place? He became terrified not only of people, not only of the Savior, but of his own morality, of that same internal judge he had been fueling just seconds before. He was giving up on himself, he was leaving himself no way out of that situation, and no good would have come out of that, would it?

Quite on the contrary, there was a voice inside of him that told him to run away, to escape his 'rightful' punishment. It was yelling 'it can't end here!', and it was bringing back the sadness the boy was feeling as he remembered that poor soul chained and brutally violated for days, weeks, months maybe, and about that drake, suffering the same fate as his own with his big, deep eyes of a lost puppy, and the scars all along his wings: a free creature chained by society, which no one would have ever seen soar through the blue skies again. At least it had been for a just cause, hadn't it?

 _Why does it still feel wrong, then...?_

Was he being a coward, was it just the fact that he didn't want to die, his animal instincts telling him to survive against a just morality which was condemning his actions without appeal? Was he just picking the most comfortable side, was his mind trying to find good qualities in these creatures only because his own nature was just as bad as theirs?

 _I hate it…_

He hated it, he hated that his weak will was trying to protect his sanity by playing the victim card! He didn't deserve it. He had to suffer, he had to suffer for his sins!

 _...Or not...?_

But that wasn't it. It wasn't just that, he wanted to escape not only because he was scared, but because he couldn't remain silent at the sad existence everyone had been forced to live: of rules and divisions, of power and control, of daily slavery and terror of the population, of a world in which to survive, and not to truly live.

 _...Just like always._

In the end, always in the middle, never making a proper decision. Not even in those final moments he could manage a Yes or a No, a Guilty or Not-Guilty verdict of his own mind. And even if he did take one side, he knew he wouldn't have followed it to its end and instead clumsily fall at the smallest of obstacles, as always.

That's why he just gave up trying to make reason of that whole mess. He tried to forget everything, leaving deaf eyes and blind ears to the scene around him: his body became dull and unresponsive, while his mind began to wander off, far from that place and that reality.

* * *

 _Mom...?_

A cozy home, nothing more than a small apartment at the fifth floor of one of the dozens of buildings in the residential area of Stadkerk, a small but fervent city of a few thousands. In a tidy kitchen of relaxing pastel colors, a young woman busily moved around stoves and plates for lunch, giving her back to her son. The oven had a digital clock on its side which could also function as an alarm: it would keep blinking at a constant pace between the proper time of the day and the time left before lunch was ready. It was something the boy would always look forward to: when the five minute mark was approaching, he would carry out the little daily ritual of sitting on the kitchen table and waiting for the alarm to go off, staring at it for the whole duration, after which her mother would finally turn around and give back a big, warm smile; she would hug his son and whisper him with her soothing voice that the meal was finally ready. The pot was steaming out a pleasant smell of cooked meat and vegetables, that day, and soon a juicy lunch would have been served for two. But it was such an hard wait, every time, the boy could barely contain himself, and the clock always seemed to be ticking slower than the day before. He didn't want to wait for so long, he was giggling impatiently on his chair, he was going to burst out in laughter, so soon...!

It broke his heart to remember quiet, happy moments like those. They seemed so far away, so lost under the gloom that his life had become after the end of the War. And now, after the first one had destroyed the joy of living and wasn't over yet, humans wanted to start another one, a bloodier one to destroy any trace left of themselves. What foolish creatures, what beasts were they, hiding behind fake promises of peace and prosperity which they firmly believed should be achieved by hate and destruction. And meanwhile hiding behind their lust of alcohol, of drugs, of sex and other momentary pleasures, to try and fill the void inside themselves when all they'd need were some less arbitrary rules and rulers, and more effort into building something better. It was all wrong, it was all so wrong.

But ultimately, there was nothing a small little boy could have done to change anything: he was weak, he was tired, and at that point he just wanted the pain to be over.

The daydreaming didn't last for long, anyway: all his thought processes happened in the few moments of disbelief from the shocking news, after which one of the soldiers – a general, from the tall stature and the several medals he was displaying on his chest – tossed the boy to the ground with much unnecessary force. Without a proper ceremony, he briefly asked his comrades to form a line and ready their weapons to carry the execution. The boy snapped back to reality from the hit, but didn't oppose any resistance: for the third time he was on the verge of death, but for the first time he wasn't going to oppose it. He had accepted his fate, he was finally ready to die, to leave that mess of a society so he could reunite with his loved mother and get back, with his hand intertwined with hers, into their small apartment on the outskirts of a quiet town.

The soldiers loaded their rifles, ready to shoot. He didn't care, he didn't care about anything anymore because he had finally surrendered all of his faith, without exception, to the hopeless darkness of the world around him, letting himself be totally engulfed in it. The Heavenly Savior Himself was going to give the signal through the giant screen of the square, in a matter of moments.

Then, she came.


	11. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter X**

The creature materialized mid-air from nothing but a faint glow. The boy thought she really did look like an angel, with her arms wide open, her thin white dress folding to the wind and a relaxed, confident expression which was pointing slightly upwards as she descended slowly, gravity not fully applying to her slender body. Or, rather, it was Time itself which seemed to slow down to allow her theatrical entrance into the scene, not allowing the other characters of the play as little as a simple movement or thought that differed from pure amazement. And just like that, all the noise and the screams and the voices were gone in an instant. The boy could hear once again: the leaves of the city rustling through the wind, a few birds chirping lazily, her breath and his own, his heartbeats regularly coming one after another.

"Get her!" the Heavenly Savior commanded through the tall screen, at which the closest soldiers began taking action.

Only the boy stood in awe as the creature opened her flaming red eyes, shining of a soft pink glow, and began one beautiful, deadly play in front of the biggest audience of the time: opening with a devastating blast of psychic power, she instantly melted the brains of several soldiers who were close to the boy. When the remaining ones began to attack her, she would circle around and stab them from behind with a hop and a skip; with twirls and pirouettes she would dodge their bullets and deflect them back to their owners, and with an arabesque she would chop one's neck and send its head flying high. By the time the terrified soldiers could finally process her movements, she would have already disappeared from sight and reappeared elsewhere on the stage to take another's life, and when they'd almost manage to catch her, she'd levitate one of the dead bodies to shield herself or the young man, then flash away once more. All of it performed with the elegance and pose of a girl gently picking flowers from a lush field.

All throughout the screams of pain, the blood falling on the stage like thin rain, the swears and the shivers of the soldiers, she would reveal the simplest and earnest of smiles, because no one could escape her enchanting gaze and no witness would ever forget her performance for the rest of their lives. She truly, wholeheartedly enjoyed that feeling: Control, Possession, up to a level which only her powers could allow, along with the amount of Revenge she thought was deserved for getting violated and hurt by such pathetic beings. Yes, pathetic; humans truly were so. Creatures who'd rather blame others for their own faults and shortcomings, who'd gang up on anyone different than them, who'd always pretend to be in the right, and on top of that be arrogant about it. They were so weak and so powerless, she would have thought they would have to be the most humble creatures in the universe! But for how haughty they were and how highly they would think of themselves, not solely for their innate weakness, they were trash and they deserved no pity.

For how much she would have liked to slay all of the presents, she knew the success of her actions had come from a surprise factor which wouldn't have lasted for much longer: as the curtains were about to close she made one last carnage, then she slid down in a final split with her head tilting backwards, and in that pose she grabbed the boy's hand and made the two of them disappear into thin air, just like she had come.

In the midst of things, the boy didn't have the time to realize just how scared he was, but after he had been brought to safety he looked at his sweaty body and his irregular breathing – or rather, his loud panting -, and saw that his legs were shaking so much that he could only keep himself standing by leaning onto a support; luckily for him, logs are always plentiful in a wood, the kind of place he was brought to by the creature. He was also quite sure those signs of fatigue were not side effects from being teleported as he was also feeling a distinct nausea, but which was quickly fading away.

Safe, was he really so? A moment of panic overturned his reason as he wildly looked around to spot any danger. But there was only a wood; a quiet, simple, peaceful wood, with the amount of trees, grass and foliage one would expect from any of its kind. There were no people, not a single soul in sight, and the leaves were filtering the barren sun of the midday: that frightful, revealing light in which the boy had been put to shame, and which he was very grateful he was being hidden from by the grace of nature.

"Saved?" she said.

Her sudden appearance made the boy stumble and eventually fall on the ground.

There she was: the same delicate, composed creature he had saved and been saved by, with her emerald hair in a bob cut and a single lock trailing down her face, and her white dress too big for her slim body. A daltonic individual would find nothing strange about her, except for a red, pointy horn that came out of her head.

"You look paler than me; that is certainly something," she continued, referring to her own white skin. Yet the boy felt no empathy in her words: her clear, breathed voice maintained a perfect monotony, distant from any human-like emotion.

"And so, you thought you were safe moments ago, before I spoke up? Or you still believe so?"

The boy was terribly confused by the statement, and not only for the fluidity with which she was speaking his language. There seemed to be a morbid curiosity of hers, of the predator about the prey in its claws. Or was there? She stood as immobile as a ghost, making any attempt at deciphering her intentions fruitless. More than that, her gaze was fixated on him: those judging, killer eyes. Her eyelids never seemed to close, not for an instant.

Was she hostile? Or was it just alienating for him the fact that her body signs – those least gestures and facial movements, betrayers of emotions and feelings innate of the human nature, which we always perceive when talking to another – were next to none?

At the very least, it seemed she was trying to talk with him. And so the obvious question raised in his mouth:

"Why? W-why did you save me?" he stuttered. His body was betraying his every attempt to keep calm, regardless of how hard as he was trying.

"Saved?" There was a slight inflection of her voice within that word, a feigned reaction of surprise. "You have a rather... curious definition of 'saved'."

A part of him was beginning to fear the worst. Was she just toying with him?

She spoke again, before he could elaborate further. "I didn't save you, as gratitude for your actions is not something I would consider. I have tried to kill you previously, have you already forgotten?"

She was right, she did try to kill him. Then, why...?

"... Why, you may ask? Simply put, for personal curiosity. 'How does someone live when the whole world hates him?', that's the question I want to answer."

What did that even mean? The boy felt further and further away from her, as if she was talking from another dimension. Then, as she explained to him, it struck him:

"... For you see, soon enough the news of your escape will be known in every city of the Federation. Soon enough, there will be posters everywhere with your face and 'Wanted' written on its end. Soon enough, every single human being on this planet will know you for the traitor you are, and everyone will hate you."

Indeed, they would. That simple truth had never occurred to him before she had explicitly expressed it: he had already accepted death as his fate, and as a consequence he had not thought about a 'What after?'.

What after, then? What was he going to do from that moment onward? He couldn't get back into any city, and the Federation would have certainly searched for him far and wide. He could never come in contact with a fellow human anymore; it was too much of a risk. But, what about...?

As if she could hear his thoughts, she abruptly continued with her explanation. "... It would be naive to think our kind would put aside its endless hatred for humans just for you, wouldn't it? You freed me, but that does not mean the monsters of this world will be friendlier to you. I won't be friendlier to you."

Her voice, fresh as the breeze spiraling through the birches and the walnuts, was sentencing a destiny as dry as the most lifeless of deserts. And as she spoke so, the wind suddenly blew out, the birds flew far away and their chirps inaudible, the trees grew higher and higher, looming unreachable heights for his human hand.

"Humans. Monsters. Everyone hates you, and now you are left alone. It would have been better for you to die. Indeed, I didn't save you; I just worsened your sufferings."

With that final sentence her voice stopped as well, and the woods became silent and immobile.

-RBAawC)afaSA-$**WARNING: OVERWRITTEN DATA.

 _And so it was tragically over. The creature disappeared in thin air, and the boy was left alone. Soon, he would have been caught by the Federation and be sentenced to death. But not all his struggles were in vain, for the War that sprung from his sacrifice was Glorious and Victorious against the dark creatures of Evil, and the humanoid monster would be made prisoner and justly treated for her sins. A new era of prosperity and happiness opened for humankind, the monsters no more beasts but docile servants._

 _That shall be the ending of our little story._

 _Fin._

**ERROR: /PARAGRAPHS NOT FOUND: INVALID CHECKSUM. ONLY GARBAGE DATA AFTER PARAGRAPH 10/23./

 **[END OF DOCUMENT 7203/A (Copy)]**

* * *

"Please, not on these kinds of moments..."

You groan, a bit upset. It's become quite late in the night: it's been a few hours since you began reading, and the monitor of your computer screen is the only source of light in the room. You realize that this time a simple decryption program won't do the job for you, and that you'll need to do work on your own.

Still, you have energies to go forward: an hour - and quite a lot of failed attempts - are all you need to get the job done, and you smile as another message appears on your screen:

 _Decryption complete of_ _Chapters 11_ _onward! (Warning: some parts may still be unreadable.)_

 _Now opening Document 7203/A (Copy) (2)_...

* * *

 **[DOCUMENT 7203/A (Copy) (2)]**

"You're done for. Now you are all alone."

Indeed. She was right.

"No one wants to be with a traitor and murderer. And I won't help you, either."

Although...

"Because bluntly speaking, I don't care about you any more than I have for any other human I've met in my life."

...Why was she still talking? She should have just gone away already.

"After all, all you did was what I had forced you to do."

A weird thought started to bounce around the young man's head: what if she herself didn't want to end the conversation?

"And even if you acted on your own, I don't really care."

Was there a hint of guilt from her? Was that why she took him away from his executioners, and the reason she was talking to him? He wasn't sure, he couldn't be sure, against her otherworldly gaze and ghostly stance. But he wanted to know, he had to know for once what she was thinking in her head: he had to stop guessing, he had to muster his courage and speak, before she would leave him forever. What did he have to lose anyway? A life that was likely already over?

"So, human, you…-"

"What about you? Do you hate me?" he blurted out of nowhere, trembling like a leaf.

It was a stupid question. It made no sense to ask it, and she had already told him in every way imaginable that there was no gratitude nor sympathy for him, and that the only reason she had looked at him with teary eyes during their first encounter was to use him as an escape tool, like a key or a rope. Regardless, something compelled the boy to ask that obvious question directly, because he wanted a direct, unmistakable answer from her: maybe he was just desperate, maybe he was tired of the duplicity of people and their two-faced society.

The creature looked surprised, this time of an honest reaction. As she stopped for a moment to process the unexpected phrase, the boy felt strangely accomplished: what should have had the most obvious answer seemed instead something she hadn't thought of, and which he had pierced right through. More than that, he had discovered and seen a tiny bit of her hidden side, one that was not the perfect and unfathomable monster but a creature, a creature with doubts just like him. In his head, that slight pause of hers meant much more than the nothing it might have very well been in reality, and he thought she looked at him with different eyes for those few moments. His mind didn't need any effort to quickly unearth memories of hers, caged and violated: he couldn't dismiss her behavior back then as a complete lie, and he couldn't believe she could fake her emotions to such a degree, as much as reason told him it was theoretically possible. She was capable of human-like, pure feelings, wasn't she?

* * *

Had something really changed in the way she was looking at him, if just for a moment? It most likely didn't, but to a desperate, death-threatened lone boy, her meaningless, temporary change of attitude may have the only hope left for him in the world.

"As I said…-" she slowly began to answer.

"... I know, but I don't believe that's the real answer," he interrupted her.

"Why?" she hissed. Her eyes were focused on him more than ever; she looked somewhat upset, if only for being talked over.

"Because..." he swallowed, "...because if you really didn't care for what I had done for you, you wouldn't have endangered your life just to rescue me."

Bingo.

She knew he was right the moment he heard him. She couldn't understand it herself why she acted in such an odd manner, and the thought was tormenting her. She couldn't understand a part of herself, and the excuses she was making for her reasonings weren't convincing. He was right; she did it because she was sorry for him, after all he'd done for her. Why did she do that? For a human, of all things? She was honorable, sure, she had always been, but humans never counted!

Time, it was always Time's fault when things got messy. She had to be collected, she had to be in Control of things, always, and she needed time to think things through to do that. When she had saved him, she had acted on instincts, she had acted on the fly without looking at the pros and the cons, at the whys and the hows. But she didn't have time to understand what she was doing, otherwise the boy would have died and it wouldn't have mattered! All because there was that part of her, that damn part of hers that was feeling sorry for the boy!

She was pissed at herself: she had been played by her own stupid sense of duty, but what good did it bring? A whiny human that should have treated her like a goddess for helping him out, who instead was arguing against her? How did he dare? She should have...!

… No, that wasn't like her. She didn't like to act all mighty and superior, not in that way. He wasn't being disrespectful, after all; he was just scared because she had exaggerated. There wasn't good blood between her and humans, true, but there was no need to vent it all on a harmless boy. She had paid her debt to him: her conscience would have let go of him, and everything would have been back in her control, if she would just keep calm.

The boy was an open book for her, both because her horn was a third eye which allowed her to sip through the emotions of others, and because he was simply too innocent and scared to hide anything from anyone. On the other hand, he could perceive very, very little of all her trail of thoughts.

Nevertheless, they were both cut short in the midst of their introspection by the cracking of a shrub: someone or something was approaching them, and their minds quickly became as silent as the forest all around them.


	12. Chapter 11

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter XI**

The woods surrounding the City spread wide all around, as far as the Cathedral's shadow could cover during sunset: an impressive twenty hundreds of meters in every direction. During daylight the vegetation was gentle and thinned out, which allowed for a relatively safe gathering of resources and enough space to grow crops in some areas, but every school and every parent had taught their children not to venture there at night, and to especially refrain from its plentiful caves: those were the places of myths for the common folks, of clawed beasts and tricky fairies, of dark monsters ambushing humans and fellow creatures alike. People told stories of candles guiding lost adventurers to their doom, of trees coming alive to trap any trespasser with their roots and slowly sucking water and sugar out of them until death, of one's own shadow materialising and eating him alive; the same silkworms which were so productive during the day would turn into blood-seeking leeches during the night.

So vast the woods extended and so fearful they seemed, no inhabitant of the City could still believe there was a world outside of them: although there was a road coming out of the woods, only the military passed through it, and every time it was travelled it had to be cut through because bushes and whole trees could grow back in a matter of hours. As such, citizens began believing all the resources the City needed came from the woods themselves, apart from what their Heavenly Savior and their God would gift them whenever questioned about all the technology and expensive clothes they clearly couldn't get from a bit of silk, ores, and berries. The road itself was thought to lead into another reality, unknown to the secluded people, and realm of the battle between their God and the evil God of the monsters. Thus, the shared feeling of the City's population of being constrained and surrounded by their enemies was somewhat understandable, and their idea of War was on a much smaller scale and less perilous than envisioned by its commander.

The boy had been lucky to have been brought to those quiet woods during the day, while the Sun was still high in the sky. Unfortunately, he was still in danger, because something had heard or followed him and the creature, and they were hearing its four-legged coming very clearly.

Soon enough, not one but two revealed themselves: a highly ranked soldier holding one of those red and white balls with which he was controlling a lion-like creature, preceding the man as a trained dog does.

The lion had a light blue face of the same color of its torso and hind legs, while the rest of its body was covered in a thick, black fur which formed a mane on the top of its head. Its tail ended in a yellow star shape which gathered a strong, visible quantity of energy. Electricity was surging throughout its whole body, which was characteristic of the animal, but the amount it was forced to gather was evidently too much: the animal was twitching its unnaturally bulged muscles and scratching the ground with its sharp paws, wildly moving its head around and crunching the air with its metal denture, implanted to enhance the grip of the animal in an attempt to dissipate the high voltage surging through its nerves. It shook relentlessly, barely keeping control of itself and its sanity; nonetheless a command from the pokéball could delete any of its will, and the wires coming in and out of its legs, its mouth, its tail, of the back of its head and both its eyes were maintaining a higher electrical current than the animal could handle. That monstrosity of a cyborg was created for improved combat effectiveness, without care for the animal's sufferings: it screamed a dreadful, painful, violent cry, mixed with its last drops of kindness as if begging someone to end its life.

The soldier clapped his hands as he slowly moved towards the two of them.

"That was a really good performance, beauty," he said, referring to the gracious humanoid. "But you didn't really think you could escape, could you? Luxray here has a really good sight with its x-rays, and he's really fast: he could track you down anywhere. Isn't that right, Luxray?"

"LUUUUUUX-!" screamed Luxray, the gleam eye pokémon.

For a moment, the boy thought that at the very least, the name the creature had been given wasn't so bad. Yet he couldn't believe the gesture came out of the soldier's heart, and as the creature itself seemed to mimic its name, he realized Luxray was the name of a specie, the name shared by every dark-colored lion-like creature in the world. What a shameless cruelty, to not even give the poor bastard a proper name.

The soldier was still talking full of himself, even though he was going against a creature as powerful as she was. The boy looked at her as she began focusing her eyes: she was definitely readying herself for a fight. Still, the horrifying sight of Luxray and the cockiness of the soldier made the boy more intimidated than he wanted to admit: what if she lo...-?

"No way I'll lose, human," she replied. Even if she meant to sound prideful, her tone came off as reassuring to the boy.

"You know, girl? You might make a good addition to my team," continued the soldier, smirking as he grabbed another pokéball from his belt. "Certainly, I might have to make a few modifications to you first, like Luxray here; it'll be interesting to see what the surgeon can do. Ahahaha!"

… The surgeon? What surgeon was he talking about? It was unlikely to be _the_ surgeon who saved his life, but the young man couldn't shake off a horrible feeling about it. It couldn't be, it wasn't possible that the same energetic, lively man who risked his life to save him had something to do with _that_ , was it? With that wired, electrocuted animal which was shrieking and panting every few seconds to breathe, could it? Despite everything, something about his savior did seem fishy, and all his talk about cooperating with the Federation, at the cost of anything else so he could keep living in tranquility were...-

… Which quickly raised the question: what did he exactly do to _him_ in the first place? The boy always thought his recovery seemed abnormal, and the more he would think about it, the more he would remember the surgeon's suspicious behavior back then: how he wouldn't talk about the details of the operation, and how he kept talking about a _necessary_ cost to save his life. What had been that cost? What did he do to him?!

Those thoughts could have gone on for much longer, weren't they cut short by a more pressing matter. The soldier was done talking, and the fight began.

"Luxray, Thunderbolt!" he commanded.

Luxray obeyed: after building up a strong amount of electricity, it unleashed a loud, piercing Thunderbolt towards the creature. On the other hand, she made a firm step onto the ground and put her hands forward, and Luxray's attack vanished as if she had absorbed it.

"LUUUUUX-!" screamed Luxray, enraged. Without any need for another command, it rushed at the creature to bite her, but she teleported away at the last second just a few metres behind it: Luxray had clenched its grip on empty air, electrocuting itself through its metal teeth. It went at it again and again and again, each time faster moving faster and hitting harder, but with the same end result. The electricity it was hurting itself with would drug its brain and its fizzling wires more and more, and in turn that would drive the animal even more enraged, and charge even more power in his attacks.

"What are you doing? Crunch her already!" incited the soldier.

Luxray's desire to kill was becoming more and more apparent after every Bolt Strike, every Thunder Fang and every Spark; its mouth was salivating plenty, and its eyes were wide open and rooted with capillaries. It would charge at an immense speed, leaving a rush of wind behind itself and moving so fast the boy couldn't even blink in the meantime. Yet the creature's red eyes kept fixated on it, methodically dodging every one of its attacks as not to leave a single scar on her gracious figure. Unlike her opponent, which was flailing wildly and screaming as high as its electricity would loudly buzz and crack, she was keeping perfectly immobile and ready to jump away as soon as needed, answering its brute force and speed with faster reaction times.

The boy felt powerless against the show the two monsters were making, but he knew he could at least hope to lengthen his life so long as she would win. And it seemed so, at first, which made the boy wonder of how she must have been no regular kind of monster, if she could even surpass a... an _enhanced_ version of another monster. It was a sad comparison, for sure, but a true one as well; the boy had always dreaded those powerful forces, in both senses of the word: deeply scared in that he would run away from them, and awestruck by their magnitude and possibilities in that he would try to peek at them. And her, she was magnificent! For a moment, he saw the creature once again as a being of another dimension, too noble and far from him to understand, at whose sight he could but bow down and wonder. Then…

… Then he would began to ask himself why she wasn't attacking back. After a dozen attacks she was still unharmed, but so was Luxray. His mind did all kinds of works on his own, and came up, in a matter of seconds, with a conjecture far too reasonable, which would make him shudder without control; as he turned to look at the soldier, the grin on his face was all the boy needed to confirm his alarming theory. Luxray was still chasing and taking the offensive, charging and roaring at the creature.

The reason she was not attacking was that _she was not winning at all_.

She _seemed_ faster than Luxray, but in truth she could hardly keep the pace against it: she was dodging its attacks barely, by teleporting as soon as she saw it moving towards her and not at the last possible moment because she needed all those instants in between to wind up her ability to teleport. Had she attacked, she couldn't have defended herself, and she probably knew well she would lose an all-out scenario. After all, those metal teeth weren't just for show, and while her mind was far stronger than anything else, her body was as weak as thin paper. The boy would also later learn that for a Fairy like her, Steel was equivalent to poison, and that a single bite could have very well been her death.

As such, she was resorting to the only thing she could do: stall for time, and hope to seize an opening from its opponent. But for the same reasons she couldn't attack, she also couldn't endure longer than her opponent would: Luxray wasn't showing any signs of slowing down after several minutes of relentless attacks, and not a single drop of its sweat fell on the humid ground. Her response times, instead, couldn't have kept up forever.

"LUUUUUUUX-!" it roared more combative than ever, electricity fizzling and cracking all around its body. The soldier openly laughed as Luxray grew out of any control, drooling bubbles from its mouth and bellowing like a buffalo, an uncontrollable monster which had once been a proud, majestic lion. On the other hand, she was clearly fatigued: she was lowering her head and her own dress seemed heavier on that frail figure. She certainly wasn't giving up soon, but she was enduring far less than the boy had hoped.

Coming to that conclusion, the young man didn't think twice: during one of the beast's countless attacks, as it was hurling its fangs at the creature, the boy stepped back and began to run into the woods.

"No, you don't!" screamed the soldier as he instantly took his pistol and shot a bullet right in the boy's path, where his head was. But the creature jumped between the two humans, and took a hit in the breast for him while the boy safely escaped.

* * *

She was all alone. He had used her to run away, and she even had the good will to sacrifice herself for him. He had probably guessed she would lose soon enough, which was the truth. But, still... -

Luxray jumped after her once more with its mouth open like that of a giant shark, ready to devour her whole. She squeezed her mind and managed to teleport away. - ...Still, she felt betrayed. She knew he had no reason to care for her, and after all the harsh words she had told him it was a predictable outcome. Also... -

The beast rushed its electrified fangs at her, roaring a high pitched scream. She pushed her brain harder, so she could run away. - ...also there was nothing he could have done, even if he wanted to. But he probably wouldn't have regardless, knowing how humans behaved. Or rather, how every creature of the whole universe behaved. And to think she had even felt sorry for him, something that rarely happened to her. A bitter truth, that was. But life had demonstrated to have a good sense of humor, at least: she had been the one to laugh at that boy's demise and loneliness, and karma was paying her back for it. It... -

Her whole body trembled for the immense strain needed to protect her one more time from Luxray's electric attack, this time unleashing from a distance. - ...it was extremely painful every time she had to defend herself. Hadn't she used most of her energies to save that ingrateful human, she could have easily escaped and let him die. She should have just done that. Kindness was her biggest weakness, she had always known that.

It was no use complaining at that point: an unbearable pain was drilling her from the bullet hit, and she was too exhausted to lift herself again.

"Luxray, stop," commanded the soldier, just before his pokémon could use its finishing move. She was not relieved by the order, still: the soldier was free to do whatever he wished with her, and in no circumstance could it have been a good thing for her. Luxray protested by wildly digging the ground with its fangs but obeyed and stood in place.

"You know, you disappoint me. I thought you were far stronger than this. I mean, it was adorable how you jumped in to save that boy, but your fighting capabilities are... lackluster. I am sorry, but I don't _need_ you."

 _Need_ her? That was the only thing at stake, if he _needed_ her or not? An inexplicable, sudden burst of rage overcame her entire mind. What a bunch of assholes, just how stupid was everyone if that was all that mattered, if she was useful or not! What was she, a toy? A fucking tool that was as good as what it produced? She couldn't stand for it, she would never stand for it, she'd rather kill herself than be a slave to a human, not again! First her "family", then a pig disguised as a living being, then _him_? No, she wasn't going to accept it, not anymore: that soldier was _not_ free to use her as he pleased. She gathered all her forces and stood up to her enemies, that fierce vixen and her cruel, crimson eyes.

"Luxray, finish her," ordered the soldier. That little prideful stance of hers meant nothing to him, but he did want to fulfill his own power fantasy by showing the true force of his pokémon: he was going to end her with the strongest attack his pokémon knew, Thunder.

Luxray began shrieking with all the power of its lungs as he gathered an incredible amount of energy. The ground was shaking, the trees were rustling from a strong wind, even the warm sunlight was being blocked by a storm of clouds, which began amassing and thundering all around the woods while more, more, and more electricity was being clumped inside Luxray's wires, as they detached on one end from its body and ran rampant with the wind.

She had no chance of surviving that move, as Luxray was preparing for a devastating blow.

Even so, she didn't take her eyes off that deadly sight, nor did she cover her ears to those loud, louder, loudest cracks and buzzes for an instant: if she was going down, she was doing so with pride, as minuscule or powerless as she might have appeared against her opponent.

Luxray charged for what seemed an eternity; the moment he suddenly stopped, the creature readied herself for the strike. But Luxray kept still, and the energy it had accumulated slowly faded away, as did the wind and the ground, and the clouds which gave back their place to the warm Sun.

The boy had grabbed the soldier's neck from behind, taken the red and white ball from his hands and smashed it against him. The latter then tried to reach for his pistol before being suffocated, but the creature swiftly hit him with a weak Confusion, enough to faze him before the boy could overcome him.

The soldier's corpse collapsed on the ground, lifeless, while Luxray died from the sudden, but sweet release of its mind, although not before a relaxed smile appeared on his face.

The boy had gone back to save her and, together, they had won a seemingly impossible battle; it was just the first of many to come.


	13. Chapter 12

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter XII**

The death of the soldier ended up being a fortunate event for the boy: he got possession of a rich backpack, which included matches, a stove to cook, a sleeping bag, a raincoat, canned food and a satisfying amount of dried fruits; a torchlight, an M9 pistol and a short sub machine gun whose model was unknown to him, along with plenty of ammunition for both weapons. There also were a battery and other electrical components which he probably didn't need and, finally, an unused pokéball.

A pokéball, of all things. And an injured monster who was not in conditions to fight back, on the other hand. The boy held the spherical, shiny object to his chin for a good half-minute or so. It seemed simple enough to use, with a single button in its center to release its pokémon or withdraw it. It was such a tempting idea to catch the injured creature before his eyes, to make her his property, his _thing_. It felt wrong, insanely wrong to do it, and every moral fiber of his conscience was whipping his mind against that temptation. At the same time, though, he could find more than one moral reason to act that way: clearly, he needed her to increase his odds of survival. He would have been hunted by the whole world, after all. It was imperative he found an ally, and a strong one like her could have made all the difference. And it had been her fault he was in that giant mess in the first place, so it was only fair she would pay him back. On top of things, he had just made such a risky decision to save her life yet again! What did she do for him, on her hand? She had tried to kill him, she had scared him to death and threatened him! Had he decided to leave her be one more time, it wouldn't have been any different.

No, there was no argument there. If he wanted her to pay back her debt, he had to force her to. His morals couldn't complain about that: he had stood up for her too many times, so she couldn't refuse to serve him, even if she had the strength to oppose his decision. _And, surely, she wouldn't have minded too much. Eventually, she would have liked it. Maybe she would have even loved it._ Wasn't that how the story was supposed to be from the beginning, anyway? The heroic man saves the damsel in distress and she falls in love with him, because the hero is strong and gentle to her. She cries and cries because she thinks she doesn't deserve him, but he consoles her and shows how much he accepts her, despite all of her faults. One sad day, the hero gets in danger, and it seems all over for him! But the beautiful lady reveals her true powers, and annihilates her enemies. She ends up swearing loyalty and eternal love to her savior, and they live happily ever after, a perfect couple.

 _That_ was how it was supposed to be. Instead, she had kept herself hostile and stuck up even after all his efforts to show kindness to her. She had only caused trouble for him, she had betrayed him, she had killed his only friend and destroyed his entire life! What kind of scornful bitch was she? If she didn't want to give in to him, he would have forced her to!

All he needed to do was to throw the ball and hit her. She was immobile, she was weakened: she could not escape in any way. After all, that had been the way of any pokémon trainer before him, and of any that would have come afterwards. The military school had taught him The Rule: first you weaken the monster, and when it's in the red - as in pouring blood out of its body - you catch it. The ball itself seemed to call out to him, to urge him to do it: a calm, deep voice with its soothing promises of lust and power.

"Pleeaa…" whispered the creature with a feeble, exhausted, heartfelt plea, thinner than glass and more tender than water, which cracked on the second syllable as tears filled her red orbs wholly.

She was lying on dirt, painfully moving her legs towards her body, one centimeter at a time. She was holding her breast where she had been hit, blood flowing from it like wine: even though the bullet hadn't hit any vital organ, it was a full metal jacket type, with its outer layer made in Steel, which was burning her insides. She was trembling, that frightened, broken angel.

Bandages, there also were lots of bandages inside the bag! The boy snapped out of his trance and promptly gathered an excessive amount of those in his hands, making a mess of the contents of the bag as he rushed to the hurt creature with teary eyes, in self shame and guilt. How could he, how did he dare think such cruelties! He wanted to punch himself, to slap himself until his cheeks were numb! He immediately threw the pokéball away with all the force and anger he could, and loosened his grip only after it smashed against a nearby tree.

He cried harder than she was as he bandaged her, trying to be as delicate as he could. He wrapped her in all the sheets he had and helped her inside the sleeping bag. He would have lightened a fire as well, if he didn't fear that if he did, someone would have found them.

They stood there for a few, long, interminable minutes, immobile and noiseless. They awkwardly looked at each other, or at the foliage of the forest, at the ground and then at the sky, without really knowing what do to or to say to the other.

* * *

She couldn't understand him. Since the beginning of times, a defeated monster would become a docile servant of humans. She had seen that happen time and time to friends and to herself, even. But that human, he wasn't following that rule: he had refused to imprison her, an enemy. That was out of any logic! And it had not been the first time he had strayed from previsions, either: it always seemed he would do the contrary of what she would expect. Everything he was doing was against his own well being! That was unnerving, even frightening, in a sense: she couldn't accept that she wasn't understanding him, that she didn't know what were his goals and why he was treating her with such apparent kindness. Was he just dumb? Had he given up on life so much he didn't care anymore? Was she so charming to him he had forgotten how dangerous she was?

Still, a part of her wished it could have been simpler to accept that such a behavior was not impossible out of a human, out of anyone regardless of their origins. That all those small signs of gentleness he was showing towards her were nothing she had to worry about, nothing she had to account for, because they were simply spontaneous, and had no hidden aim beside their nature. She had been truly scared when he had took the pokéball in his hand, after all, and if only the world didn't teach her better, she would have felt glad and thankful he didn't catch her, rather than skeptical and distrustful. Because sure, maybe he was just toying with her, maybe there was another pokéball inside the bag and he perfectly knew it - it made sense, it made so much sense -, but something told her that was not it. Maybe it wasn't even that much reasonable, considering how she could never predict him.

A fresh feeling began to bud from some unknown closet of her heart: for the first time in her whole life, she felt she could let go of her worries, relax her bones and her muscles and feel weak. She felt that it was fine for her to be that way, she felt that he wouldn't have judged her pathetic for it, she felt that he wouldn't have exploited her for his goals.

She chose to relish that weakness, to enjoy it as much as she could when seconds before she wasn't even aware she wanted to feel that way - how strange it was for such a controlling, strong creature to wish to be weak and powerless! -, even if she knew well the human's actions were likely not as compassionate as she was fooling herself to believe. It didn't matter, for just those few minutes: he was allowing her to rest, and that was all she needed. A quiescent, calming feeling, in a world in which everyone else was killing or being killed.

"It pains me to tell you this," suddenly spoke the boy, breaking the magic of the moment, "but we need to move right now. Other soldiers are surely after us, and if they find us we're both dead."

He knew there was no way for her to move on her own. That meant…

"I'll carry you," he added.

She didn't refuse. The human was right, and there wasn't much of a choice either way.

Without sharing another word, the boy took the pistol out of the bag and loaded it, packed everything else back into the bag, put the bag on his shoulder and, very carefully, lifted the creature still inside the sheets. He held her close to his waist, in a horizontal position, with her legs plumping down, and found out she was surprisingly light, as if only the sheets had a proper weight to them. He regretted he couldn't feel her skin to the touch, but it wasn't probably a good idea to try it: her crimson, inquiring eyes weren't any dimmed by her weaker conditions, sparkling full of light and particles as if a fire was fueling them; they were looking at him so intensely, he feared she could have attacked him at the first wrong move, even if it was an impossibility.

He began to move between the vegetation and trees of the forest. Mother Nature seemed welcoming enough during their journey, presenting chestnuts and spruces, bushes full of berries, a few figs and some splendid silver wattles, whose golden flowers garnished the ground. The young man still proceeded carefully, especially as he travelled further into the outward area of the forest which was littered with roots and thorns, filled with nasty nettles and generally laid out with a thicker, more hostile flora. Even so, and even though he was holding her body as gracefully as he could, every step was like sticking a needle inside the creature's breast, and every misstep of his would cause her to gasp in pain. She endured that for hours, driving her to the verge of desperation, but during that time she never diverted her gaze off of him or the path he was taking.

 _I promise you'll be fine, you don't have to worry so much. I'll take care of this for you,_ he wanted to console her; but he didn't, because he had no idea how she would react, and he was sure she didn't trust him at all. Eventually, her eyes did flicker and then close, as she fainted from exhaustion; her breath was faint but regular, which reassured him about her conditions.

He continued to walk holding the asleep creature in his arms until sunset approached. Afterwards he lighted a warm fire in the middle of a small open place, made sure to lean the creature in a position as comfortable as the uneven ground allowed, and sat down to get some rest himself. He had no idea how far they had gone, but he didn't want to put a harder toll on her than she could endure. And he was quite fatigued, too: although he had been trained his whole life to travel with a big backpack on his shoulders, and while the extra weight of the creature was light, the care with which he had to do every little movement for such a long time strained his muscles.

/

When the creature woke up an almost full moon was shining on the forest. Myriads of small fireflies were hanging about, rejoicing of the lunar sun and answering with their own glowing tails. The boy seemed content enough of the show of lights they were making, but she didn't like it much. Not that she hated them, but she had always had an aversion for insects. These one had sticky bellies, and purple or red wigs made of keratin - such a gross substance for such a beautiful part of one's body, that was! She thought they were a weird joke of nature, because the females looked a lot like dressed-up fairies, only… buzzing, and very disgusting. The males, instead… well, they were just fat.

As a final answer, she didn't like them, at all. She flailed the few of them which got too close to her, but it was hopeless: the more she did it, the more came to her. She got even more annoyed when she noticed the boy was quite amused by her reaction and got a good laugh out of it.

He promptly excused himself as she darted a viper's gaze on him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he began, "I'm just happy you seem to be fine. Since you fell asleep I was… I was worried you wouldn't make it."

"Don't underestimate me," she barked.

"I know, I know," he replied, "so, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," she mumbled. She had given up on understanding why he was worrying so much for her.

She was still clearly weak, but the fact that she could speak was a result beyond his expectations. "What about the bullet?" He asked, trying to inquire a bit further.

"I can take it out myself as soon as I have recovered some more; if I can get some sleep, probably tomorrow morning," she stated.

"How? I thought it was impossible to teleport something you can't see," he argued.

"So humans did teach you something, after all," she taunted. "You are correct, I can't teleport something I can't see. But unlike humans, I can sense my whole body: every internal muscle, every organ, every gland is under the control of my mind, and that makes removing something very easy."

"Incredible," was all he could say. He tried to imagine what it would be like to see his own body, an X-ray vision of sort. It would be disgusting at first, but maybe he could get used to it: his heart pumping, all that blood flowing in an orderly manner…, and what would his stomach look like if he had an hiccup? How did his bones look like? What about seeing in real time the route of his urine? Gross, but pretty cool. And he would be immediately able to point out that small pain in the neck, or that annoying headache.

"It was... pretty smart of you to come back and kill the soldier, I'll give you that," she said, completely switching the topic and interrupting her pause. The boy didn't understand why she was so reluctant, as if she had to admit something. "I didn't get it at first. You did it because if I had died you would have too, didn't you?"

"Yes. Luxray could have chased me down, there was no way I would have gotten far enough to make him lose my tracks with its empowered vision. The soldier said it himself: that Luxray was lightning fast," he explained.

"Luxray should have seen you sneaking behind the soldier, though," she argued.

"I'm sure he did. But I'm also sure it wasn't a bad creature, and did what he did only because he was forced to. So I believe that when he saw I was coming, he hoped I was going to kill his master, even if it meant his death," he replied..

"I think you are too naive," she disagreed. Was she really that upset she had guessed his intentions wrong?

"Don't underestimate me," he jokingly echoed her.

"Fuck you," she mumbled, and then hid herself inside the sleeping bag.

He was glad, he was so glad he could cry. He had always believed that these creatures, these pokémon were not heartless monsters, and he had been proven right, finally. He had talked to her, they had exchanged words and not threats, slashed at each other with quirky remarks, not blood. Surely, she couldn't have attacked him in any case, but she could have kept silent, or even worse, threatened him! Yet she didn't, because that "Fuck you" had been the least intimidating he had ever heard in his life.

It was such a refreshing feeling, as if the weight of the whole world lifted from his heart. Could they become allies? Could they become... friends? Maybe, maybe they could; maybe it was even possible for humans and pokémon to coexist, after all.

On the other hand, she was nervous, and she needed several minutes to fall asleep even though her eyelids were heavier than metal. She was grudging herself her behavior during the afternoon: when she had given up and closed her eyes, she might as well have killed herself! How could she let her guard down like that? She couldn't believe it. She knew she had to stay alert the whole time; she just got lucky she had found such an idiotic human. She wasn't listening to the part of her which believed it was the right choice to trust him, it was insane just to think about it. But it was true. Indeed, she had trusted him, willingly or because she was weak. She had trusted someone to do the most generous thing he could do for her, even if it was the most dangerous for its own safety, and to her surprise, he had. He had done it, in a world in which everyone would kill or be killed.

Herself included.

A rush of guilt hit her: she had never thought humans could be kind. She had never met one who was, as separated as her society was from them. And her society had always taught her to be strong, to be combative, to fight her way through anyone and anything, especially if they were humans. She hated her kind and their way of doing things, but she had never realized how brainwashed she had been. Even then, even when it was so obvious, she couldn't accept it, she couldn't get it. She had always been merciless to others, because she thought it was the right thing. Because others were doing the same to her, it was just self-defence! But was it really moral to do something just because everyone did it? Who was the bad guy, and who was the victim? Who was the cause, who was the effect? Cause and Effect. She had always thought she was an effect of the world around her, of her corrupted society and bloodthirsty enemies. But then came someone who defied that logic.

 _Could she hurt him, and still call herself the victim?_


	14. Chapter 13

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter XIII**

Thick, heavy layers of fog covered the forest for the entirety of the night, lifting more and more water into the air as helicopters swoop down in reconnaissance with their spotlights; wolves howled, plentiful and aggressive, patrolling and threatening any soldier to dare enter their territory. Even the moon, which had welcomed the boy and the creature for a short time, seemed to willingly hide itself behind clouds, as to reveal their presence to no one.

What kind of magic or entities were behind that blessing, or why they had decided to protect them the young man had no idea, but he was certainly thankful for it. The forest was known and mythicized to have a mind of its own, and even though that fact didn't make the sound of the rotor blades any less intimidating, the boy was glad the forest was apparently approving of his actions - few other humans had managed to survive a single night inside that place, as the Will of the Forest would not tolerate their presence after sunset under normal circumstances, hence the namesake of the place itself.

Was he deemed an exception to the rule? As soon as he began believing so, a brief rush of wind raged and extinguished the bonfire. The boy sluggishly put it back on, but he had learned the lesson: his presence was tolerated, not accepted; the following morning he would be allowed passage through the forest, not his stay.

As such, what exactly was he going to do? Once past the woods, plains would be laying out in every direction before his eyes: too easy it would have been for the Federation to find him there! But he was bound to die anyway without the protection of the Will, which clearly cared for the creature's life only.

On that regard, what was _she_ going to do the following day? Considering the pace of her recovery and by her words, she would have been able to stand on her own by morning, maybe even defend herself. And while that was a good outcome, the boy couldn't shake off the feeling that she could have just abandoned him and gone on her way; maybe she would have even killed him, just to be safe.

Their previous interactions became meaningless at that realization. Sure, they had talked for a little while; sure, they had fought a battle as allies. Certainly, he had even seen her kinder side! Did any of that matter, though? They were still sworn enemies, after all, and the boy didn't know yet why she had saved him that Sunday morning - she had never answered that question, and he didn't ask her again. In truth, he knew next to nothing about her, and at no given time he could figure out was she was thinking. Because of that, and because he was faithful in the goodwill of every single being of the universe, he had been likely giving her a humanity that she didn't possess.

Facts, on the other hand, were speaking the screaming truth that she was powerful, that she was deadly and, most of all, that she was hostile. He remembered well how she had butchered soldiers upon soldiers back at the square of the City: heads were flying, blood was pouring out of chests, eyes, brains, severed necks. And she had laughed at them; she had toyed with them, and then enjoyed herself at the death and pain of humans just like him. What about his friend, and persecutor of hers? The image of his lifeless body pouring gray matter still haunted the boy. That dark side of hers, which sometimes could be fascinating, became once again in his mind the pure, distilled horror that the Federation would profess regarding all monsters like her.

They had chatted that night and she had been nice enough to him, that was his only consolation. But what initially had seemed progress towards some kind of friendship crumbled when the simple, insidious thought crawled and infected the young man's brain, that she might have faked that behavior. Because there had been another time, one other time in which she had pretended friendliness: when she had needed him to set her free. Weak, open to him, even loving she had been that time! Who was to say she wouldn't have acted that way again, if she had to?

Control, Conditioning of the Mind. He was sure of it, she had exploited him yet again, as she pleaded and cried for help so she could convince him not to capture her, and then use him as a litter to travel through the forest. She had also talked with him later on, making sure, during that instance, to sound reasonable and human-like: that way she could be safe, because he would have not attempted to kill her in her sleep so long as he would have kept believing there was some good in her.

In short, she didn't care for him, she simply needed him to stay put until she could recover her strength and dump him.

Oh, how quickly can emotions overcome each other in that wild jungle of farfetch'd conjectures that is the mind! The creature, the Will of the Forest, the Federation, and along the surgeon's work on his body, his father, the Heavenly Savior, Luxray, and all the other fears and events the young man witnessed, they began mixing and blending together in a confusing mud of anger and terror, without lack of continuity and without any logical or temporal order. Thus he kept thinking of her monstrous side, firmly persuaded she had tricked him once more, and of his most diverse, unsolvable problems, stuck in a loop without exit, for he knew he could not run away; all night long he sat without rest, until exhaustion got the best of him as the sun was a couple hours away from dawn.

/

They didn't share much talk as they woke up. All the fears of the boy assailed him back as the creature stood up, closed her eyes and began to channel energies through a stance similar to yoga, but with her legs straightened vertically. After a minute or so, though, she lost the composure, apparently without success, and never tried it again. Instead, she began to hover in the same direction they had been travelling the previous day.

He trailed behind her through the thick vegetation, unsure of what to say. Still, as she had been completely silent, he felt the compulsion to say something, which was an idea as stupid as it sounded.

"A-are you feeling better today?" he timidly asked.

"Yes," she coldly replied, without even looking back at him.

"Oh," he blurted, and pondered a few instants before speaking again. "That's… good. So… hum... why don't you just... teleport away from here?" The more he said the less he voiced, to the point his last words were just hushed mumbles.

"I cannot," she stated, quite irritated. "Only to places I know, and only small distances," she explained in a least effort attempt.

"Oh, I… I didn't know that," he said, and continued. "This means you remember… you remember well that spot in the forest where we have met Luxray?"

"I do," she said, and didn't elaborate further.

"And why is th-"

Her eyes blazed as she lifted the boy in the air, out of nowhere! She sent him flying against a nearby tree, although not at a dangerous speed, and pressed him against it, effectively blocking any of his movements. Her brow was furrowed, and the lines of her face were emphasized by small, clear-cut shadows. Even her long eyelashes seemed to point spikes at him as she devoured him with her look.

"I don't get it!" she loudly screamed, and heavily breathed thereafter. It was quite a shock to hear such a strong, intense shout out of her crystalline, melodious voice.

The boy froze, scared beyond reason, flailing and failing at the simplest of thoughts.

"I don't get it," she reiterated; her words almost trembled. She was upset, clearly, but her physical stance lacked hostility, while her unfocused eyes hinted uncertainty.

"What are you doing?" she said. "Why are you acting this way? What do you gain by doing this? Are you toying with me? Or are you just stupid?"

"I'm tired of second guessing. Just tell me, tell me why you treated my wounds, tell me why you escorted me to safety, and tell me why you didn't make me your pet slave back there!" she commanded with renewed strength in her voice. Such rage she expressed, for such a rational and collected being!

She was not willing to bargain, the boy could tell that much. What he could not sense, instead, was the fearful, scared trembling of her eyes: she was hiding it, but she was on the verge of tears. In just two days, the most fundamental of her dogmas had been put to the stakes by a single human, after months of rape and years of personal experience which deemed the idea that humans were Evil an undeniable principle.

 _A single example is enough to counter an entire theory._

But was that young man before her a proper counter to that principle, or just a craftier person? Had she found a trustworthy human, or a very good liar? She could not wrap her head around those questions, and with all she had experienced, she had been exhausted. She was so distressed she could not even meditate, not even for a minute!

She had tried time and time again to understand him, surely: she had sensed his emotions, and through those she had tried to connect the dots of his patterns. But the figure that came out was just a jumbled mess of lines and contradicting goals! She hated it, she hated the idea she could have been wrong for all her life, she hated the idea that the human before her might have been just as scared, just as lost, just as lonely as she was, which was the only reasonable explanation to his behavior. So she did the only thing she could, the same thing he had done to her, the thing that was not much different than asking a criminal if he had committed a crime: he asked him, directly.

The boy, on the other hand, felt his vision blurring and his touch numb from the sudden action of the creature and the copious amounts of adrenaline he had been put through, the umpteenth time within a few days. Seeing Death calling at his door, and unwilling and nonetheless unable to think any further, he released all his frustration with the most honest answer he could give, careless of what her reaction would have been.

"Why would I? That doesn't make any sense!" he blurted out. "I didn't rescue you from that basement just to drag you down with me!"

His honesty flinched her. Indeed, he was answering with just the same desperation as she had posed her question.

"Listen," he began. "I've never done anything good with my life. Nineteen years I've served a regime I don't trust, nineteen years I've ignored the injustice of my life and countless others just because it was the easy choice. It was what everyone else was doing, so I did it as well. 'If you work hard, you pray to the Heavenly Savior and you go to the military school where they shout at you a lot and bully you, they'll feed you and you'll live the day just fine,' they said, and I had accepted that."

Sadness, Regret.

"It didn't seem that bad, and most importantly they gave me protection and security against the dangers of the world. I didn't have to fear for my life because I had accepted their rules."

Fear. It's hard to oppose the masses, it's hard to take action against something that's already in place, and that is especially true if no one cheers for you; Loneliness. She knew these things all too well.

"But what kind of life is that? They treat you like shit, they don't allow you to speak up or say anything or else they whip you, or they make you work even more hours than the impossible amount you already have to. And when you don't work, you pray to the Savior for hours upon hours every day, repeating and remembering to heart the stupidest slogans of the regime and the entirety of the passages of the Victorious Scriptures, which are the most useless pieces of literature I've ever read in my whole life!..."

Spite, Anger, Grief, Hopelessness, they were all exuding from the young man's voice and mind, and so powerful they were the creature's horn was hurting, overheating of a bright red; rarely had such strong rushes of feelings hit her! As if reverberating of the same frequence, she began trembling, and experiencing his same delusions, his same weakness, his same fate; the worst part was that his anguish sounded oh, oh so terribly similar to hers! She didn't want to be reminded of her own past and present, she wanted him to shut up, to say no more! …

"... Oh, and of course you have to give the Heavenly Savior gifts because of the megalomaniac God he thinks he is, cheer for the execution of traitors and monsters alike, repent yourself for sins you have never committed, sacrifice yourself when they call you for War, for that stupid useless retarded destructive and scary, oh so scary War! Because if you do that, then humanity will be happy again! Through a climate of terror and dictatorship, humanity will rise to happiness once again! And of course, because they believe that the world outside the cities is made of beasts, they convince us that they need to treat us like beasts to survive. Oh, that's just _so_ logical, isn't it?!"

… But he was flailing as much as his constraint allowed him to, and shouted and spit words in Anger. She knew he could not contain these emotions, she knew he _had_ to let them out, and she knew she had no right to stop him because she was the one who had asked for them: she had been the one who slashed open his wounds in hopes of finding the cure for her own illness.

"That's their excuse, but I could never believe that was true. And so, when I saw you in that basement… I… I… "

His speech had suddenly become stuttered and inconstant.

"... I felt guilty. I've never felt that guilty in my whole life, never. I was- I was enjoying myself in the City, before… before I saw _you_."

Sorrow, unbearable Sorrow. She could not contain a tear as she heard the warming kindness in that choked pronoun. She noticed for the first time that in his deep, black eyes, there were black holes that could not reflect light, but wished to.

"I was living the luxuries of the City, I was allured by its flashy costumes and parties."

Guilt; Regret for his choices.

"People were unhappy back home in my village, but everyone seemed joyous there, so I thought I would become too. Braindead, a zombie just like everyone else, I had forgotten about the outside world. And to think I had left my father just to get back inside the Federation's cage…!"

Spite, and Regret again.

"Someone had recommended me poorly. My judgement knew I shouldn't have trusted him, but his words were soothing, and pretended reason. I didn't think he was a bad person, actually I want to still believe that, but I'm not sure at all… If he really was the one who modified that poor Luxray, how can I still defend him? He seemed nice enough, but maybe that was just appearance? Did he treat me well just because I was his pet, his experiment? That was the reason I had recovered so fast, wasn't it? The reason I got a job in the Army as well, maybe? Because I was going to become a Frankenstein monster? I- I don't know, I'm just... It scares me to know the truth about this."

Doubt, and a spike of Fear. He paused for a second, his eyes lost nowhere, before his thoughts could flow freely once again.

"... When I saw you, defenseless and crying, beaten and violated beyond any brutality, I didn't care anymore about anything. I didn't care you were an enemy, I didn't care you would have killed me afterwards. I freed you because I couldn't stand seeing how a human's deprivation and lust, how all the hypocrisy and wrongdoings of the Federation were destroying something so beautiful... so beautiful as _you_ are."

His voice was cracked, but warm and heartfelt. Hope, Joy. And Sweetness. Her heart felt much, much heavier, drowning in self-contempt so much that she had to physically hold her breast with both her hands. How could she had been so insensitive?

"I know you've tricked me into doing it, I know you wouldn't have cared for me just because I would have saved you, and that you still probably don't. I know you possess powers I can't even comprehend, and I do realize you had tricked me into doing it, and that I was probably under your influx all along. But... I like to think I would have still helped you."

How horrified, how scared he must have been! What had she done, how could she hurt such a lone, powerless boy!?

"I fear a War will ensue from what I have done, I have realized that's what the Heavenly Savior wants. He capitalized on the death of his son - just how unlucky was that, of all the people you could have killed… - If people will follow him, it'll be a disaster. There's no way they can win, that's for sure. Brutality, that's what will happen for both sides, for both humans and all creatures, and that's going to be the only result that we'll get from this. But I don't blame it on you, at all, nor do I blame it on myself. It would have happened, eventually, because humans wanted this War. Badly. It was all they would talk about, most of the times. All their prayers about a future golden age, about being rich and powerful and merry again… Because they dream of perfection and happiness in the future, they forgo joy in their present. It is such a stupid, big mistake to do! I wish I was stronger, I wish I had powers like yours so I could do something about this world, about this messy, impossible chaos so I could try and repent for the mistakes of my kind… But as it is, I'm just a puny human who'll soon die at the hands of a wolf or a bear or, if I'm particularly unlucky, of another fellow human."

He was just a puny human, he was right: a puny human whose only defect was to be too harsh on himself. She wished she could just tell him that, she wished she could console him in some way. Could she, though, after all she'd done? Could she make it up for him, after having shattered and crushed all of his hopes? She was scared, she really feared she had messed his frail being beyond recovery.

"The Federation is on my tail. They want me dead. Had i caught you you would be just in danger as I am. I'm sacrificing myself for you, because it's the only thing in my power. Because if I can exchange my life for yours, I feel it's a good trade, and I can die in peace. It really seems there's no place for me in this world, after all… while you do have one, don't you? Your family, your friends… I'm sure you guys live a much more fulfilling life than we do."

If only he knew… Family, friends? Yeah, right, she wished those still existed. And her, worth his life? How was such an ungrateful bitch as she was worth anything… ?

"So do me a big favor, will you?" Please, you and all the other creatures, get together and win this War. Exterminate us humans, like we deserve, so that the world may become a peaceful place once again, at least for you guys."

With that last sentence, he was finished.

She was furious at herself, at her stubbornness and heart of stone. She felt an intense hatred for that logical, stuck up part of her that saw everything as goals and predictions as clear as math, hardened through years of self-imposed harshness. And even though her reason was still telling her to stay on her toes, that she would have regretted later what she was about to do, she didn't listen to it, not that time. She was still in time to make up for her behavior; she had to, he deserved it, after all she had inflicted on him!

And so, as she released him from her powers and as he fell towards the ground, completely worn out,

She flew to him and held his hand.

His palm was sweaty, and terribly hot, but she didn't care. She slowly intertwined her slender fingers with his own, one at a time, forgetting all of the hurries of her world to get a firm grip; then, she gently whispered to him, with the care of a mother, " _Thank You, human._ "

It was all he wanted. Those few, small words were all he had wanted to hear for all his life, for what had seemed like an eternity… !

Their cheeks were pepper red, they could hardly keep their eyes open and they were still shaking of nausea, drugged by the after of confusing feelings and striking emotions, but they still managed a smile, a warm, open smile to each other, all they needed to forge a promise of friendship and goodwill for their future.


	15. Chapter 14

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter XIV**

Sometimes, she wished she would just keep her mouth shut. She had gotten all kinds of emotional, and she hated that; now she was dizzy from an annoying headache, which made her walk- ...err, levitate around rocks and stumps like a drunk.

Still, she was confident she had made the right choice. She didn't want to miss out the opportunity of getting to know the young man before her – it was such a refreshing discovery to find that humans could express all kinds of emotions, even positive ones! What she had heard and seen from him had not been enough, though: she had to understand him better as to come to a definitive conclusion about the human species, and about whether they still had some worth in them. Had she decided to just run away from him, she would have regretted the choice for the rest of her life.

It would have been a difficult challenge to face, that to cooperate with him. Yet all of her reluctancy and fears were overcame by the possibilities: so many things she could have learned from that boy, and his behavior alone unavoidably raised dozens of questions! Where did his good will come from, in such a dry world? What had been his life, what had made him reject the regime all his similar were so fond of? What were his ideals? What about his education, his daily thoughts, his dreams? And what about the other humans, what did he think of them? What did he think was truly Evil within them? Maybe he was just a fluke - she would have kept really wary around him, of course! - but, at the bottom of her heart, she really hoped to find out that just maybe, humans were not truly Evil; that maybe, they were just Sad, really Sad creatures.

In order to give an answer to all of these questions, it was of utmost importance that she would, first and foremost, forget all of her prejudices: she had to be willful to cooperate and objective with her opinions about him, as a good scientist would – besides, up to that moment she had been the one at fault, so loosening her attitude was the least she could do for him. One thing she could already say for certain, though: it was astounding how much the boy had endured her company. Not only had he not turned his back against hers once, but he had continually helped her, and even somewhat believed in her!

That consideration made her feel all the more horrible about herself. Guilt, in fact, had almost made her ask forgiveness for her actions, but pride had managed to hold her back during that instance. Afterwards, as their windwhirl of emotions had settled down, she had felt that saying 'sorry' had become too far away and too unrealistic to ponder it. She had very mixed feelings about that: the boy clearly deserved plenty of apologies, but then again, Pride is Pride.

An aura of awkwardness and silence permeated the duo's first hour of travelling: they had agreed to stick together for the time being and had promised to talk and get to know each other, but it was proving to be a harder task than they had both expected. The forest was not helping, either, as quiescent and, while certainly colorful, as repetitive as it was: there were rows, stacks, lines of tall, big, voluminous trees, both young and old, embedded into one another in intricate mazes of branches, some with straightened and bigger or curvier while others thinner, with broad and flat leaves of a few evergreen kinds or the spiky, sturdy ones typical of the season – however you would prefer to describe them, they seemed never ending. Everywhere was the same as everywhere else.

"So, where are we going?" said the young man, trying to break the ice.

"To the end of the woods, obviously," replied the creature. "Xerneas does not like your presence here."

"I had figured that. But who is this Xerneas?" he asked.

"Myths say he could share immortality with other souls, if he so wished," she began to explain. Her eyes shifted from their usual garnet shade to a brighter, rose-like pink as she continued to talk, somewhat lost in marvel. "He grants his thriving breath to plants and animals alike and oversees all the forests of the world, but he is not their king. He has the shape of a cervine and of a blossoming tree, and he is one of God's angels and servants, superior beings with unbound power. He protects us creatures, and despises humans for their reckless abuses of the other living beings."

"But, luckily for you," she continued in a more practical, less poetic tone, "he is among the kindest of legendaries, as he is the bringer of life, not the harbinger of death. In fact, he still allows humans to gather resources for their survival inside his territory, but only during the day – that's the pact he has stipulated with them."

"He must be an incredible sight! It has been a privilege for you to be able to talk to him, hasn't it?" commented the boy.

"Quite, yes," she whispered. She had assumed a slightly more posed and mannered posture while she levitated around, as if she was imagining the legendary creature standing in front of her.

"You almost have dreamy eyes right now," chuckled the young man. "I can tell you are really thankful for his protection."

She nodded back.

"I do have a question, though," he added. "Why didn't he help you while you were fighting Luxray?"

"I am an outsider to him," she sighed. "As much as he wanted to help me, it was too much of a risk for him to aid me. His most powerful creatures sleep during the day, and he did not want to get the others hurt, while making an intervention himself was not an option for there was too high of a chance other soldiers would have spotted him. It was a delicate situation. He had told me all this, and he had also told me he was truly sorry he could not intervene."

An all-powerful legendary who cannot defend a single creature inside his own territory? Especially for one who was so keen on protecting his kind, it did sound rather strange to the young man. Rather, it didn't make any sense! But if there was a way to help her, what other reason did he have not to act?

Could it have been… Could it have been that Xerneas trusted the boy to save the situation? Maybe it had been a test of his Will, to see if he would abandon her or not? The hypothesis was solidified by the fact that supernatural entities often seemed to challenge their disciples or creations: he remembered superficial knowledge about myths and deities, and he knew well the religion of the Federation was a test of faith in itself, for citizens had to trust any choice of the Heavenly Savior – or whoever represented him. If that was true, it would have been one heck of a confidence boost!

"What about the time you got kidnapped? Weren't you in the outskirts of town?" he hastily queried further.

"No! That time, it was-…!" she blurted with unnatural suddenness in her tone. The way he had voiced the question, with subtle arrogance and urgency as if he was trying to prove the point that Xerneas did not really care about her – not even him?! –, upset her. Her eyes reddened and fueled very small sparks inside her pupil-less iris, although far from enough to lit a proper fire.

"It was my fault that time!" she exclaimed. "I had wandered off too much, and I got out of his territory! That's when that disgusting guy caught me. It was my fault, only mine! Understood?"

He timidly nodded; the heated answer had been a cold shower for him. He was behaving like an idiot, for it was clear she had deep respect for that cervine-like creature: even though he didn't know why, he should have been more careful not to offend his name, not even implicitly.

As soon as he opened his mouth to apologize, "Soldiers are definitely going to ambush us when we get out of this place," she cut the conversation short, "I have a plan to go past them."

* * *

One, two, ten, at least thirty soldiers were in sight on the flat terrain ahead of them, which extended for a few miles. The young man and the creature were well hidden by the last trees and foliage of the forest, but a few more steps would have been lethal. The boy had no idea how to pass their blockade – was she going to fight them head on? It would have been reckless, and she seemed more the contriving, canny type. What if there were other soldiers? They must have had snipers set up somewhere – up in the mountains north-west of them, maybe? Regardless, she was not readying for a fight, so his hypothesis must have been wrong. Were they going to wait for night, then? No, they could not: the longer they would wait, the more troops would have arrived. Besides, the soldiers likely had flares and spotlights.

"I'm going to teleport both of us in the cave you see over there," she explained, "I've chosen this precise point because it's the closest from there in a straight line."

"As the crow flies, you mean?" he corrected.

"Yes. That," she answered, completely unimpressed, "by the way, human, how did teleportation feel last time?"

"Uhm… It kind of feels like jumping, I guess. You start detaching from the ground, and then everything around you sort of… accelerates really really fast while you are still in mid-air?"

"Indeed. Teleportation happens at the speed of light, not instantaneously," she clarified.

"And then you simply land, and you get a big nausea from the speed-up," he ended. "How does it feel for you?"

"The same, for the most part," she answered. "I can see in my mind where I can teleport to, as if those places are distorted portals that I can reach with a jump. But I'm used to the velocity, so I don't get nauseous."

She took a big breath, and reached for the young man's hand.

"Are you ready?" she asked, and directly looked at him. "Prepare yourself: there may be soldiers inside the cave, in which case we fight and then run deep inside. The cave is also open on the other side of the mountain, in the worst case."

He nodded, although the fact that he was lowering his eyes to avoid her gaze could have been interpreted as insecurity – how could he look at irides without a focal point and not lose himself within them?

However, "look at me, human," she urged him, and moved his chin up. "I promise what you'll view will be worth it." It did not sound like a demand, but a favor she asked of him.

She began channeling her powers while still looking at him. Her eyelids slammed fully open, and the irides of her eyes became brighter and began emitting a pale, pink light as they very slightly vibrated in place. Then, two pupils began to unseal from the center of her eyes, colored of a black as dense as that of the empty universe. Instead of seeing the world around him move, the boy could see moving objects, white stars generating from the middle of the pupils and running to their outer limit, all while the pupils themselves were growing larger and larger: from small dots to her irides, to her whole eyes, out of her eyes and out of her body, engulfing the world around them and then his body, through his body, all around his field of view, upwards where only a small circle was left, further and further away!

A moment before the hole completely closed around him, all the blackness instantly vanished. The young man had just lived the fascinating, breath-taking experience of witnessing what black holes looked like.

* * *

The boy was looking at the rocky, humid ceiling of a cave, and it took a drop of water falling into his left eye to make him catch up from the dumbstruck expression of his face and the thoughtless wonder of his mind.

What had happened? That was not just the teleportation. He had seen something much bigger, something that could be used for much more devastating or incredible abilities: the source of all her powers! What were those two things? How did they work? How did they get so big, so fast? They had permeated the whole universe! Was she calling on their enormous amount of energy? Or was she creating them somehow, before casting her spells? Were her powers that mighty? He was not even realizing he was shaking.

"It seems there's no one else here," she said aloud as she rummaged through the boy's bag, which he was paying no attention to. There are no pokéballs here, she thought, and only after checking twice did she manage to relax her stiffened shoulders.

"Well?" she chanted, genuinely curious of what he was thinking.

"I… I don't even know where to begin," he stuttered, "There are… so many questions, so many things I want to ask you, I don't even know what to say."

"Why don't you just start with the simple ones?" she suggested, showing as willing and friendly as she was able to – almost smiling, she was! "Considering we'll probably be safe here for a little while, we can sit down and talk a bit."

Her reassuring voice made him feel less uncomfortable: once again, she had switched back to the part of her personality he could empathise with.

"Uh… Why… For example, why do you speak the human language?" he asked. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with us."

"How else am I supposed to talk with you in an understandable way?" she replied, breaking the good habit of never answering a question with another question.

"You mean what you are using is not your native language?" was the question of the question of the question.

"Of course not," was, finally, the proper reply she gave.

He had his eyes fixated on her, but she just kept still. Few interminable seconds passed as he didn't bulge a single muscle of his whole body, and didn't close his eyes for an instant. Why was she keeping silent? Did she like teasing him so much she couldn't just tell him what her language was like?

Eventually, she surrendered to his pleading eyes. "Very well, if you are that curious."

She stood up and assumed a solemn pose: while she slightly bent her torso forward, she relaxed her shoulders and tilted her head upwards at about a sixty degree angle; at the same time, the upper part of her dress tightened around her belly and her waist, leaving a more spacious gown to hide her legs, and exposing her hands like flowers sprouting from their pods. She slowly opened her arms towards the young man as she spoke ample, feathery words that could have been but inspired by a God.

" Melmë nóren sina

núra ala Eäro nur

Ilfirin nairelma

ullumë nucuvalmë

Nauva i nauva. "

It was such an elegant, profound speech, which touched the young man from the bottom of his soul and resonated with him, wholly, like a violin does from his bow. He had imagined the mysterious truth she had spoken of and he had seen the legendary, ancient reality revealed by her words, the kind of which he had never heard before. Was everything about her so magic, so incredible, so perfect!?

"So, this… this is your real voice?" he asked in pure amazement.

Her response, though, was certainly more amazing than everything that preceded it. "Actually, no," she giggled.

She lost the boy with that answer, and the wide grin with which she sat back on the floor of the cave did not help his confused look.

"It's just some elvish language I took from a fantasy book," she explained. "I think it was called The Prince of the Rings, or something similar. What I've recited is an ode which infuses the needed courage to fight for your land."

The boy was gutted, plainly, and unable to reiterate.

He is somewhat foolish, and easy to toy around with, she thought. Predictable. Still, his reactions are quite enjoyable.

"I just wanted to toy with you a li'l," she then said with an honest smile on her face. "Sorry, but it was too tempting: I had to get you back for joking on me."

That was a damn good lesson, coming from the creature: too seriously he was taking her. If she had loosened her guard, he should have done the same.

"Come on, that's unfair!" he cackled, admitting defeat. "I didn't even remember about yesterday evening. You have that good of a memory?"

"Indeed, I do. I do not forget, I never forget," she stated, with slightly more emphasis than she had intended.

Grudges, she may be too obsessed with them, thought the young man. Was she touchy, or the jealous type? It really seemed the case, considering her past behavior. It was probably better not to inquire on that regard, but it was a good mental note to take.

"Still, it sounded beautiful."

"Yes, it really does. I like this language because of its vocal-heavy syllables, and with lots of 'n', 'm', 's' and 'f' sounds."

She over-acted those consonants – and many other sounds – by stretching her mouth quite more than needed, and trying multiple tones. The boy couldn't help but grin: she was resembling a baby who was listening to his own voice for the first time, playing and experimenting with her new instrument in childish fun. He wondered when she had learned the human language, and if it had been a recent discovery of hers – her mind should have been capable of understanding complex concepts such as an entire language in much shorter times than a human could, but maybe she didn't have quite the time for the respective feelings to catch up to it because of those same short times.

That conjecture may have explained her child-like awe for something which was so usual and customary for humans. Regardless, she seemed very caught into the matter and quite serious about it, and a quiet smile was across her face: she was happy that she could share her thoughts with someone else.

"I wouldn't know how to explain it, but I feel something magical from it. Maybe it's just the fact it's very melodious – sometimes I even like to talk and mix a few words from this and other languages!"

"Like, which words?" he fueled her.

" 'Hantaniel' means 'Thank you,' while 'Né' is 'Yes'. 'No' is said as 'Là', or 'Ú' " – she pursed her lips and shaked her head left and right as she said so – ", which is stronger. If you are uncertain you can say "Uito", and if you are not sure to agree you say "Nácë"; 'Hi' doesn't change much with how you pronounce it, and 'Farewell' is 'Namárië', which is a lovely word. If you want to say 'Please' you say 'An ngell nîn'." She briefly paused. "And then there are 'Coi' and 'Firié', 'Life' and 'Death'. And… 'Meleth'."

"There are even different ways to say the same concept…" commented the boy. "This seems really complex. So, the author of this book created an entire new language just to have a realistic setting for his story?"

"He would probably brag very angrily if he could hear you say this, human," she playfully lectured the boy. "It was much more for him: it was a passion for languages, and literature as a medium. He wanted to give his characters not only different words to use, but a whole different way to communicate, and to express feelings."

"Oh, I agree. And I can deeply respect the amount of effort he must have put into this – he has created in years what people have chipped over centuries! How do you know all of this, though? I mean, this was made by a human, right?"

"I've read books. Just because humans are enemies to me does not mean all they've produced is worthless."

"I'm glad you think that way. I very much feel the same, and I wish more would think that, and give a chance to things they're not used to before bashing on them. Cultural differences are always hard to overcome, aren't they?"

"Indeed," she answered, and seemed lost in her thoughts afterwards.

"Oh, wait!" he exclaimed. "Now that I think of it, you still haven't answered my question! What is your language?"

"Simply put, I don't have one," she explained, "I don't need words to talk with my similar; I can just project images into their minds. Words are beautiful, but this way it's more efficient and less ambiguous. Were I to channel thoughts into you this way, though, you would probably get a headache after a few sentences. Also, it would sound too forceful: the more I push thoughts into someone the harsher they sound, from whispers to questions to orders. If I put even more effort into it, they become imperatives for your mind, which is the basis of mind-control. Unfortunately, the human mind is quite weak compared to mine, so a whisper for me would sound like an order for you, or something like that, uh... I think."

Was the boy wrong, or was she becoming more and more talkative over a very short amount of time? Nonetheless, he was truly interested in what she was telling him, and the both of them would gladly keep chatting for quite some time.


	16. Chapter 15

**DISCLAIMER:** _I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak._

 **Note:** Do you guys/gals like this fan-fiction? Then please leave a _favorite_ or a _following_ : it would really make my day, and drive me to continue writing! _Reviews_ or _PMs_ are also very, **_very_** appreciated, because I love hearing your opinions and thoughts on this. **Thanks, and enjoy your read!**

 **WARNING:** _Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible._

* * *

 **Chapter XV** **  
**

While our duo was moving towards one of the numerous caves of the mountain range The Giant Wormhole, whose name was eloquent in regards to its complex under-surface labyrinths, a military jeep dashed in the opposite cardinal direction, on the rough path which exited the Capital City. Several other vehicles had followed it, but they had eventually strayed to other routes: to each one had been assigned different villages and outposts to travel to. They all carried hundreds of identical flyers which depicted the face of a young man and briefly enumerated the crimes he had committed towards the Federation, along with a bounty.

The jeep in question, though, had another mission, for its destination was the city of Stadkerk. After a short trip through the Forest of the Will and a shorter one on the gentle, plain hills westwards, its trip was over, and the few soldiers which came out of the vehicle were warmly greeted by none other than Commander Clutcher - the golden flag flapping above the roof of the jeep entailed orders from the Heavenly Savior himself, after all. The Commander had no shame in reciting a long, rambling speech with his head lowered in deference of the visitors; regrettably, the latter were not fascinated by his words, nor were they willing to waste their time.

"Do you know of this young man?" they cut the Commander short as one of them handed him a flyer.

"I, yes… he is the… who escaped from here… " mumbled the Commander after a quick glance, somewhat afraid of what were the soldier's intentions.

"Get his father to us. The Capital City wants him," they ordered.

* * *

"Bean soup again? Do these cans contain nothing else?" bragged the creature.

Neither her crystalline, breathed voice betrayed emotions nor did her eyes, in a stark contrast with her complaint. She had shown bursts of sentiments due to the exceptional circumstances the duo had lived and she had demonstrated she could be very expressive; often, though, she would keep a flat facial expression when talking, which would confuse the young man plenty: was she joking, or was she serious? Was she angry, or was she content? It was nigh impossible to figure out. Maybe she was getting tired of him - during the early afternoon she had been much more talkative, after all.

"Only soup, I'm afraid. And cold, because we can't light the stove if we want to stay hidden," he eventually replied.

"I will get stomach cramps if I gulp that again," she said. "You eat it."

As she snapped her fingers her can appeared in front of the boy's face, levitating. He grabbed the object and sighed: she was now chipping dried fruits with her mouth, a handful of them hovering at her reach. _His_ ration of dried fruits - her sense of humor was not affected by her mood, apparently.

Before he could speak up to express his stern disapproval, "DOWN!" she commanded him, a peremptory order weighing down every muscle of his body as if gravity had instantly multiplied a dozen times. Moments later, myriads and myriads of eyeless bats flew above their heads as they lunged from the deep canals of the cave towards its exit - it was late afternoon, and the little critters had just woken up. They repeatedly crashed against each other and the rocks littering the place, too confused by their ultrasounds and presence to understand where they were going. They were trying their hardest to look like a huge, intimidating colony of animals, but they were too giddy to accomplish so; they still managed to form a somewhat coordinated, continuous stream which lasted for several minutes. Their screeches, each one varying in length and tone, bungled together a cheerful, high-pitched cacophony; some were even chanting syllables of their name: _zuu… -bat! zuu… -zuu… -bat!_

 _Zubat, they must be called_ , thought the young man. _Zu-_ seemed a fitting description of their behavior: the ditzy, relatively dumb kind, but also one of a carefree, ever-happy attitude. It was such a simple addition to what he used to call them, but as he thought it over a few times it became imperative: to label them merely as 'bats' felt too restrictive and, nonetheless, he realized that there must have been dozens of types of mouse-like animals - a diverse array of characters, manners, body types, and so on - which, surely, all deserved different names!

He felt the urge to remember that new discovery, to write it down in paper. He promptly did as the river of zubats subsided: hidden inside one of the backpack's smaller pouches was a notebook and a handy pen - it was part of the standard issue, although the soldier it had belonged to had barely used it. The boy made a gesture as if to scribble over the previous owner's name, but stopped in his tracks; he then searched for the first blank page, and wrote the five letters 'z', 'u', 'b', 'a', 't' with shaky hand-writing.

Meanwhile, the creature had found something of interest for herself: one of the zubats had been left behind by its comrades, and it was hitting in an endless loop a stone bulging out of the ground, right in the middle of its track for freedom from the narrow, rocky walls of the cavern. The small animal would cry out the first half of its name and charge straight ahead, only to smack against the hard protrusion before finishing the - _bat_ part; the attempt would make it lose its already precarious flight equilibrium but not its determination, nor its certainty that it would have surpassed the obstacle on the following try - that, or more likely he was forgetting about the existence of the obstruction soon after the impact. He would regain quota by backing and furiously flapping its wings; in a few seconds, he would be ready for another attempt, unfazed.

She was attracted by the curious regularity of that pattern, and after some reluctancy she drifted towards the bat. When it noticed her presence the little animal stopped in place, still flailing his wings in the disorderly manner which made it loop in air in a eight shape, and turned to her with its big mouth open as if to greet her. She could not help a giggle. She wrapped her hands close to the zubat's body, and gently levitated it after the stone. No more obstacles were now in the way, and a straight path would have led to success! The bat shrieked its name in joy, then it proceeded to fly in a _curved_ line and hit its face against another stone on its left; hence, the aforementioned cycle repeated.

She was disappointed: needing help and being plain dumb were two different issues, and while she could feel for the first, she had no care for the second. For its own stupidity, the zubat was likely going to die, either of famine or of a head splattered against a rock, and she was certainly not going to babysit it. She quickly lost interest in the animal.

"You know bats eat insects, right?" the young man informed her, in an attempt to fuel her curiosity for the zubat. He, too, had been drawn by its nature and he was studying it from a distance, sketching a few wobbly lines which were supposed to define its silhouette.

The comment struck her like a thunder. Insects! Gross membranes, icky mucus, squiggly and slimy bodies! Horrifying, hairy faces and big compound eyes, whose simple thought would make her skin crawl with little, invisible vermin feasting on her body!

However, the boy was right: bats do eat insects! Her opinion of the zubat overturned in the snap of a finger: it may have been low on intellect, but it was a brave, courageous soldier to face those demonic creatures. If she could have it as an ally, she could have cured her biggest weakness, that her powers were useless against those pesky insects! How to convince it to cooperate, though? Helping it in return? A few soothing words? Mind Control?

"Why don't you just ask away?" suggested the boy, seeing her hesitation.

 _Since when can you read minds, human?_ she thought with a hint of annoyance, even if she still accepted his proposal.

She closed in on the bat and waited to get its attention.

" _-Voir?_ " she then gently asked, with a small bow of her head.

" _Zu-!_ " it cheerfully answered and began flying around her head, finally losing its obsession to smash against hard materials.

A new friendship was forged as easily as that. What a curious creature had the boy met, one who was not fond of insects but found appealing a bat which was just as ugly and sticky. One who liked the elvish language but hated the race of its inventor. She had powers beyond words, but she would over-think the most insignificant issues and lose herself in them as if she was oblivious of the obvious choices. She seemed in stops and starts confident and lonely - she tried her hardest to appear threatening to others, but to him she just seemed a bit grumpy. To his own surprise, her company was not a terrifying thought, not anymore; it was, rather, somewhat nice, which is more than what he could have said for most things. The boy thought all this, and more importantly he thought that with that zubat flying around her, were she to fold her dress like a cape she would have looked like count Dracula.

Still, as much as he liked to mock her, he also had to admit how terrible he was at drawing and how hard it was to synthesize life in a blank piece of paper: he had the wings of the bat alright, but everything else was incredibly out of proportion; he had drawn two eyes - two small black dots - that did not exist at all; no line was surefooted, and the sole idea of shading the image was space age away from his capabilities.

The creature, now with the zubat by her side, turned her awareness back to the young man. She stared for an interminable amount of seconds at his ridiculous drawing, creating through her lack of expressiveness an embarrassment which almost lead him into crumpling the piece of paper and tossing it far away. Before he could give in to the temptation, she snatched and levitated the notebook and the pen in the air, then she began employing the pen at a furious speed but with millimetric precision, drawing an image not through lines and layers but left to right and top to bottom, shading without even having marked a single line - all with her powers, and without touching neither items once. What came out was a perfect, realistic two-dimensional picture of the zubat, with the type of flawless lightning that could only be seen in a photo.

The young man had been clearly defeated and humiliated, even if the zubat judged equally both attempts with a cheerful " _Zu-!_ " - it was not saying much, considering he lacked sight. She handed the notebook back, while his mouth was still wide open in awe at her result, which looked even better up close.

A sad smile appeared on her face, and her eyes twinkled of a tear: he could not understand. There was no way for him to notice her emotions, her society had taught her well how to hide them and unless she would make an effort to reveal them, he could not see them. A Gardevoir who reveals her emotions is a dead one, they had taught her. Because of that, he was getting her all wrong, though!

What was she supposed to do, then? Was she supposed to let her emotions flow freely? She had tried to be more expansive but it felt unnatural, it felt unlike her; it was tiring and bothersome. As such, he could not understand her. He could not understand that she liked his creative, wobbly drawing more than her own mechanical, soulless one.


	17. NOTICE

NOTICE

Forgive me for the hiatus of an entire year. A Nameless World is now officially starting anew. While the main themes of the old story will remain the same, the way they are conveyed will (hopefully) be much clearer, less banal, and more intriguing. Updates are going to be uploaded once every two-three weeks. You can find the reboot here:

s/12682772/1/Another-Nameless-World

The story on the page you are right now is not going to get any more updates.

Thanks to all who spent their time reading my story or who will in the future, it really means a lot to me. I deeply thank all of my supporters: every single follow and every single review you have posted made me muster up the confidence to start writing again. I am sorry for those who were waiting for a new chapter of the old story, I promise the chapters of the new story will be as good as new!

\- XelYel


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